Strallan - Holmes
by Jael73
Summary: Sir Anthony Strallan has long been groomed to take the place of Britain's greatest protector, Mycroft Holmes. He is also Edith Crawley's only hope for true love. But will the Great War destroy everyone's hopes? A love story and a mystery amongst great tragedy. Later Chapters may change to M.
1. Chapter 1

"Some old bore, she said. I guess he was going to propose," Lady Mary Crawley said with a small laugh.

Sir Anthony Strallan was no fool. He had cultivated the ability to put patterns together from seemingly inconsequential details over decades of being on the outside looking in. Being somewhat awkward had not helped his social life much, but it had helped Britain numerous times.

So when he heard Lady Mary's reason for not being able to find Lady Edith at the garden party, though his first reaction was acute embarrassment, he stopped, let out a breath he had choked in, and let his head do the thinking instead of his heart.

The details flashed in his mind, clicking into place like a jigsaw puzzle. The snippets of conversation he had overheard, the looks between the sisters, the odd things Edith had said about herself and her family. His urge to run faded, as if he had stepped out of a badly written script for a very melodramatic play.

"I believe, Lady Mary, that _I_ am the "old bore," he said gently, with a small smile as to let her off the hook. It was all so clear, now. Lady Mary was very much a petulant child who had been indulged all of her life. She was simultaneously scornful and jealous of Edith, or of anyone that received attention other than herself. He had given her his attention once, when it was clear he had been invited as a possible suitor. Aristocracy had its certain customs and parts to play, of course.

But as all of this flashed through his mind, he spied Edith over Mary's shoulder in the distance. He _knew_ she would never say any such thing. Even if she did not wish to accept him, he knew she would be kind about it.

He left Lady Mary with her mouth slightly open, speechless, as he took off his hat to Lady Edith coming forward. She had a slightly worried smile on her face, seeing him next to Mary.

"Hello!" she said brightly. She was trying to learn how not to be forward. She had never received any type of attention from a man, and hoped she didn't come off as needy.

"Hello!" he returned, with his own charming smile. Edith adored his smile. "I was hoping to see you."

"That's very nice, so few people do," Edith said, with a small laugh, looking at her hands.

He was sure of his assessment now. Lady Mary had been allowed to bully this lovely creature for far too long.

"I thought we might take a walk beside the lake, if that would be agreeable to you?" he asked, offering her his arm, a little concern showing in his bright blue eyes. He really did not want to ask his question in the middle of the party.

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely," Edith answered, slipping her arm into his. She refused to look back at Mary, who was fuming.

"It would seem I have not thought through some things," Anthony mused as the strolled on the outskirts of the party. The peace of the water, the smell of summer in the air, gave Edith quite the impression it was just the two of them in the entire world.

"What do you mean?" she asked gently, somehow no longer afraid. It seemed so natural to walk with this man.

"Lady Gervis, at dinner, said she thought us a wonderful pair," Anthony smiled at the memory of that night. "But what I had not considered was that there would be others who might not think so, and be willing to make their feelings known on the subject."

"Did Mary say something horrible to you?" Edith asked, stopping him. "If she did, it was only to spite me. That's always been our relationship. Though, to be fair," Edith looked down at the grass in shame, "I have been horrible as well, on occasion."

"I am starting to understand you more, my dear," he said, gently pushing up her chin with a finger to look at him. His eyes were more serious now, but she saw only acceptance there, not judgement. "And I hope you have also thought through being seen with me. I am a bit older –"

"Age is only one factor … in a relationship," Edith nearly whispered, a slight warmth coming to her cheeks. She had thought this through many times, worried that he would use it as an excuse to no longer see her, but it was still a little embarrassing to talk about such things. "I have been invisible my entire life. You are the only one that have ever listened to my words, my… feelings," and now she blushed red, feeling very forward, indeed.

Hesitantly, he cupped her cheek with his hand. Just touching her silky skin made it difficult to breathe. She stirred feelings with him he had thought long dead.

Edith closed her eyes at the touch. Crawleys didn't touch each other, they formally hugged and kissed. It was so easy to fall for this man, and she so wanted to be worthy of him.

Internally, though, Anthony was seething. Angry at the Crawly family for ignoring this ravishing, intelligent and kind woman to the point that she would find the attentions of a lonely widower pleasant. But he knew he could not give her up, now.

"Then, if you're sure, I would be bold enough to ask for your hand in marriage," Anthony said softly, gazing into the depths of her warm, chocolate eyes.

Edith stared at him for several seconds. She actually had to convince herself that she had heard him correctly. Her whole body flushed as she nearly screamed, "Yes, oh yes!" and flung herself into his arms.

Several of those that happened to be closest to the happy couple turned their heads at Lady Edith's cry, and saw the embrace. Sir Anthony was well aware of the attention, and after setting her down, he took her hand with a smile as bright as day, blues eyes twinkling with happiness, and said, "We should go tell your father before the guests do." She smiled grandly back, and they walked hand in hand, as a couple in love, to the middle of the garden party.

Lord and Lady Grantham watched them walk towards the main tent. Cora had told Robert what would probably occur, and he was glad. Maybe he had thought Strallan a bit dull, but he had seen how Edith had blossomed under his attention in the last few months. He was a gentleman, and would know how to treat his middle daughter well.

Handshakes were made all around, with Cora kissing Anthony on the cheek. The celebratory atmosphere, however, was interrupted by a telegram. Robert ripped it open, annoyed at the distraction. But his eyes told Anthony the news. Anthony knew it would happen soon.

"We're at war with Germany," Robert said. Everyone froze, though you could hear the news being spread.

Edith gripped Anthony's arm and looked into his eyes. What would this mean for everyone… for them?

 _EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

He had come to Downton as soon as he had read the telegram delivered to Locksleigh.

"I've had some concerning news regarding the war," Sir Anthony started as soon as Thomas showed him into the drawing room, where Lord and Lady Grantham, Lady Mary, and Lady Edith were discussing the same topic. It had only been two days since the garden party, where Lord Grantham had received the telegram about the start of the war with Germany.

It was quite clear to everyone present, however, that Sir Anthony's news was mostly meant for Lady Edith. Anthony's eyes had sought hers out as soon as he had entered the room, and he was having a difficult time acknowledging Lord Grantham properly. She was gorgeous, as always, but it hit Strallan quite forcefully as he looked at her – _she would soon be his._

"What's happened, Str- Anthony?" Lord Grantham asked. The engagement was still new, after all, and Robert had yet to get used to Anthony's place in their family. Anthony ripped his eyes from Edith and looked at Robert distractedly.

"I believe you're aware that I have served the government for some time in a role that's probably best described as…advisory, concerning Germany and Austria," Anthony explained carefully.

"Yes, of course, you mentioned having gone there just recently," Edith said, concern in her eyes. Anthony found himself nearly drowning in them. No one had shown concern for him personally in many years, or bothered to remember details of his conversations.

"Yes. But what I did not mention is that I am considered… somewhat an expert on….certain aspects of Germanic culture. I actually hold a barony in Northern Germany, if you recall," looking back at Lord Grantham.

"I thought you were only a Baronet?" Mary asked sharply. Edith pressed her lips together in annoyance. Of course that would be the point Mary would be interested in.

"In England, yes. I've never made much of the title here." His piercing blue eyes looked over to Edith, and she saw amusement in them. She smiled back brilliantly, in a moment completely understanding the petulant child he saw Mary as. It nearly brought tears to her eyes, the realization that Mary had no power over her anymore.

"Are the Germans giving you trouble over that? Could it be taken from you?" Lord Grantham asked.

"It's early yet to tell how this will affect landholders in both countries, but I am in a position of trust here, so they are sending me abroad. They want to smuggle me into Germany."

The room gave a collective gasp. "Won't that be dangerous?" Edith asked, her voice wavering slightly.

"I have cultivated many contacts in Germany over the years. Those contacts need to be… assessed," he said, somewhat vaguely. "I hopefully won't be gone much more than a few weeks, though I am being drafted as a Major, mostly likely for as long as the war lasts." Here he looked directly at Edith, making no mistake as to why he had come with this news. "I leave tomorrow."

Edith blanched, speechless. Cora spoke for her, saying, "I'm sure it will turn out well, Anthony. We can start wedding plans as soon as you return." Edith looked over to her mother in gratitude, and then turned back to Anthony.

"Can you at least stay for dinner?" Edith asked, her voice full of the emotion she was bursting with inside. She had had so little time with this man. She had thought there would be ages to get to know him at a deeper level before their wedding. Edith mentally ridiculed herself. _As if anything would go right for you._ She squashed the voice before it said anything else mean.

"If you'll have me," Anthony nodded at Edith, and then looked at Lady Grantham for confirmation.

"Of course."

"Then I shall return at six more properly attired." He nodded to Lord Grantham, gave Edith one last look, and exited. Edith followed him with her eyes, and then turned to her mother.

"Well, who knew Sir Anthony was so well placed?" Mary said. Everyone knew it was meant snidely.

"Mary, you really need to hold your tongue from now on. This is war. I won't have Anthony spoken of like that," Lord Grantham rebuked his oldest daughter. Mary's mouth opened to say something in retort, but saw the look in her father's eyes.

"Edith will need a little time alone with Anthony after dinner, Robert," Core said softly, changing the subject deftly. Edith had always admired her mother's social grace.

"Of course. I trust you both, though we will need to make a more formal announcement of your engagement, tomorrow even, even if it was somewhat public," he said to Edith. She knew he was only being concerned for her reputation, but Edith was thrilled and nervous at the same time. She hadn't been alone with Anthony since before he had proposed.

Anthony's valet, Davis, had finished packing a small bag of essentials by the time he returned to Locksleigh. His tails, however, were freshly pressed and waiting for him. Davis had been with him for many years, and knew his master well. He had come on just before Maud had died in a riding accident six years ago. The entire house staff was elated when their master had proposed to Lady Edith. They were fiercely loyal to this man that was so quiet and gentle, yet had had so much heartbreak.

Anthony didn't go up directly to dress, however. There was something he needed to do before leaving in the morning. He sat at his writing desk, and composed a telegram to his solicitor in London. He had asked for time to stop there tomorrow, and wanted Higgins to have everything ready for him to sign.

Dinner was only slightly awkward, as Sir Anthony had not yet dined with them as a soon-to-be family member. Mary behaved herself, for once, seemingly having learnt it was no longer acceptable to disparage Edith or her suitor. She was still somewhat miffed that she hadn't known the full extent of his wealth and peerage, and mystified as to what he saw in Edith at all. So she watched. If nothing else, Mary always wanted to be "in the know".

Sir A- _Just Anthony,_ Mary reminded herself, kept the conversation far away from the war. He spoke more about the modernization in agriculture, and what he had been doing at Locksleigh. Edith was actually interested in equipment –tractors, harvesters, planters, etc. That didn't surprise Mary a bit, remembering how Edith was always fascinated with things that moved on their own as a child.

No, what surprised Mary was that she had actually started to understand the logistics and importance of what Anthony was doing with his estate. She had never felt compelled to "do" something with her life, but Downton was extremely important to her.

"Anthony," Mary began when there was a lull in conversation, "Would you be able to estimate how much more profitable Locksleigh is now, after all of these improvements? Is it really worth the effort, especially on a larger estate, Downton, for example?"

Edith shot daggers at her sister for the implication that Locksleigh was nothing compared to Downton. But Anthony saw the question differently. Maybe Mary wasn't interested in the fine details of harvesters, but the question was more in line with the interests of an estate agent. Anthony paused, clearly thinking over his answer.

"It's actually a very good question. Larger estates would have to invest more, and therefore wouldn't see the return of profit as soon. But it is my understanding that of the larger estates that have already modernized their farming and livestock assets, increased revenue simply does not materialize fast enough if an estate tries to "ease into it", as they say. It really is, quite, an "all or nothing" venture."

"That's…illuminating," she said, as she looked over to Papa. Perhaps Anthony would be an asset to the family, after all….

The ladies went through, and Robert waved to Carson to offer Anthony a cigar. Anthony took it, though he didn't smoke often, as a sign of acceptance.

"Edith does have a dowry, of course," Robert began. Anthony knew this conversation would have to occur, though he was not at all interested in her money. "Though I would appreciate some consideration to be made on allowing Edith access to at least a portion of it. My own father entailed all of Cora's money to the estate, which has created quite the pickle, as you know."

"I completely understand and agree. My own estate is not entailed, though the title would die with me if I have no direct heir, as baronetcy's do, of course. I would agree to Edith keeping possession of the entirety of her dowry."

Robert looked surprised. "Locksleigh does that well?"

Anthony managed not to smile with pride. "Yes. Modernization is a good thing for these old estates, Robert."

Robert leaned backwards in thought.

"We should call it an early night," Cora said as everyone finished an after dinner drink. Robert nodded. "Please take care of yourself, Anthony, and I'm sure we will see you soon. Edith, please ring Carson if you need anything," making it clear his approval for Anthony to be alone with Edith.

"Thank you Robert," he said as they shook hands, but quickly turning to Edith. Everyone else filed out of the room. They were finally alone.

Edith gestured at the seat next to her. "Would you like to sit down?" her voice wavered nervously.

"Yes, thank you," he said. They sat next to each other for a few minutes, unsure of themselves and their relationship.

"An odd start, wouldn't you agree?" Anthony said, looking at her with a smile on his lips.

Edith relaxed with a soft chuckle. She saw right through the joke, as the smile didn't reach his eyes to make them sparkle.

"Yes, quite. Though it doesn't surprise me, my life has yet to go anywheres near normal," she said, with a sad smile of her own. Anthony knew there was a story there, but there would be time to learn more of each other.

"I feel the need to tell you something, before I go," Anthony looked down at his hands. Edith held her tongue, understanding more about this man by the minute. He was a man of few words by breeding, by kindness and by being more interested in others than himself, but also in a… hesitancy of knowing the right words. They were very much, two of a kind.

"I-" he paused, sighed, and started again, "I have never been able to easily express myself. To be honest, I was actually quite surprised I was able to get out my proposal without making a fool of myself," he looked at her with a self-depreciating smile.

Edith touched his arm in a way that she hoped was comforting. She hadn't really touched him yet, much less any man since being out of the nursery. The feel of his muscle beneath his jacket was… erotic.

"I have 38 years of mistakes, secrets, and habits that - there are many such things you should know about me - but I would like to be clear. My feelings for you, are – genuine," he said the last sentence quickly, certain he was going to completely cock this up. Edith smiled, and his worries seemed to melt away.

"Thank you. I sometimes feel – a little pushy, as if I goaded you in an unladylike way into –"

"Not in the least. I am simply a bit surprised that you accepted. I never thought I have anything lovely in my life again, after Maud…." He paused, quickly uncomfortable where he had taken the conversation.

Edith stopped him. "You needn't talk about it now. There's quite a lot I would like to explain to you, about myself, my family… But we needn't do it now." She let out a breath. "But what I do need to say now is… I love you, Anthony Strallan."

"Edith Crawley, I very much love you, too." He hadn't been certain that this was love until that moment at the lake. He held up his hand to her cheek, touching her soft skin again. It was a gesture he would love to able to repeat for years to come.

He had meant to tell her so much more, about his work, about his true place in the government. But now, as he stared at her lips, it was not the right time.

"May I kiss you?" he whispered. Edith heart raced, her eyes wide and bright. She nodded.

He leaned forward slowly, brushing his lips to hers. Edith sat straight, almost stiff with not knowing how to respond. But her already parted lips, in trying to catch her breath, allowed him a small taste.

Anthony had to restrain himself from moaning in desire. The most experienced woman in Paris couldn't have any softer lips, or taste so divine. He gently titled his head with his hand, to better explore her delicious lips. A wave of pleasure over-road any self-consciousness Edith had, as she parted her lips, allowing his tongue access.

Her body felt like melting pool of… she had no idea, didn't want to think, only wanted this feeling to never, ever, end.

Anthony nearly lost all sense of propriety, exploring her mouth with his tongue, tasting her thoroughly, it was heaven….

And then he pulled back gently, trying hard to control himself. Edith's eyes were still closed, her lips parted, panting slightly, with her hands making their way to his arms of their own volition.

He couldn't help grinning like a fool. It might be unfair to compare this moment with Maud, but it couldn't be helped. Maud had always been so restrained, so _Victorian_ even in their most private moments… Anthony was nearly giddy at the idea that he could actually _excite_ a woman, no matter her inexperience, or his age.

Edith opened her eyes slowly, obviously still deeply affected. "Is it always like that?" she asked innocently.

"I don't know what it is like for others, but I hope it will be for us," he said truthfully. He leaned forward again and kissed her gently on her brow. "I should probably go, I have to catch the early train to London."

"Of course," she said, a little shakily, both from that earth-shattering kiss and from knowing he was going into danger. She rang Carson to have Anthony's car brought around, and walked with him outside.

Carson walked up to her, his eyes soft. "I believe you forgot this, my lady," he said gently. "Oh, I did," she said, looking at the photo he handed to her, and then blushed at the memory of why she had been distracted.

She looked at him gratefully. "Thank you, Carson." They had never been the friends that he and Lady Mary were, but in that moment, he knew how much she appreciated him.

"I had wanted to give you this," she turned to Anthony. Carson walked back into the house to give them privacy. It was a picture of her, taken only a few years before. "I thought…"

"It is lovely, though not as lovely as the original," he said truthfully. "I will carry it with me, until I return."

And with his eyes bright with emotion, he got into his Rolls Royce and drove off. Edith clutched at her shawl. She was fearful. She had never been this happy.


	2. Chapter 2

To the observer, the elderly gentleman reading the newspaper in this very well-established club was one of the ubiquitous landed gentry: well bread, silver spoon, a typical "gentleman farmer."

And that was exactly what Mycroft Holmes wanted you to see.

If you looked closer, and truly _observed,_ you could tell that this thin man had once been quite large: the lose skin, drooping eyes, and thick lips. You would see that he wore a wedding ring, yet the Diogenes Club catered to single men. You would note that he was reading the entire paper; every line, every word was being catalogued. And you would see the thick stack of English, French, German, and Russian papers next to him that had clearly already been read.

It was 1914. The Great War had started, the one that he and his brother had always known was coming. He had discussed it at length with Sherlock before he had died; they both agreed it would start in the East and spread West: the East had been neglected for hundreds of years. Mycroft could only try to prepare Britain for the worst, but the world was changing faster than he could observe from his comfortable chair. Oh how he missed his brother.

At 83, he had guided Britain through many conflicts, obverting one disaster after another. He had won his bet with Sherlock over the timing of his death many times over. But 83 was extremely uncomfortable. Goodness, 70 had been extremely uncomfortable, for someone who had been heavy nearly his entire life. But he was stubborn. He would not leave Britain without finding another protector, someone to take his place in collecting the information needed to foresee the unforeseeable.

He had single-handedly created MI6 out of the need to collect data faster, as the world grew larger. But he had still needed a point man, someone that would receive the newest intelligence from around the world and be able to put it all together. To see the patterns. To be Britain's brain.

Mycroft folded his newspaper and set it aside, and picked up an unassuming folder. There had been several candidates he had carefully watched over the last few decades, but they had in turn proven to be disappointments. Except for one.

He had met Sir Anthony Strallan quite by accident, actually, while visiting Eton over 20 years ago, looking in on a completely different young man as a possible protégé. Walking across the courtyard, he had observed the young man sitting on a side bench, watching a group of his fellow classmates talk and joke with each other. It was clear that the young man was watching the group as a whole, not simply individuals.

He did something he rarely ever did: he diverged from his plan of action and walked over to the bench.

"Might I sit down?" he asked politely. Blue eyes took him in curiously.

"Of course, sir, would you like me to leave?" Anthony responded with deference. It was clear the young man could tell Mycroft was no ordinary gentleman.

"No. I would like to know what you think about the group there," he asked. Anthony looked at him thoughtfully, and then looked back at the group.

"They're trying to determine if they can trust each other enough to start a cheating ring." Anthony said simply.

"Quite. But how do _you_ know that?" Mycroft prodded.

Anthony paused. "It's hard to explain," he began. Mycroft nodded for him to continue. "The way they fake laugh, almost rubbing elbows, talk about smoking, feeling out how far each of them will go. The dynamic of having more than three people helps make them comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. It's… a cultural connection, that they're using to manipulate each other into doing what they all really want to do, but no one's willing to make the first move. Not yet, anyway."

It was enough. Mycroft was actually excited for the first time in many years. But his next question was crucial. "And why are you here instead of telling the headmaster?"

Anthony looked at him squarely. "Two of them are the son's of Dukes, one son of a Marquees, and two sons of Earls. The title of a Baronet would not stop be from being beaten nightly if I did so." He looked back over to the group. "And to be honest, one should never show one's entire hand early in the game."

"And yet, I am going to do just that. Would you like to come and work for me?" he asked bluntly.

Anthony looked back at him. "Yes, I think so," he said. "But I have responsibilities. To my family, to my estate. And I am already engaged to be married."

"I will work around those conditions," Mycroft agreed. "Your father is dead, I presume?"

"Yes." They both knew why Mycroft knew that: Anthony wouldn't hold the Baronet title if his father was still living.

"Then there are fewer… complications. I will send you more details soon." He stood. Anthony stood. Mycroft put out his hand.

"Mycroft Holmes." Anthony took that in. Many things clicked into place. The brother of the famous detective. It made sense.

"Anthony Strallan."

He had sent Strallan to Oxford to read on Technology, an area he himself lacked knowledge of. Anthony had married and started his life as a simple, well-educated baronet, who came off as rather dull for knowing three languages and many other things about farming and industrial equipment, and having traveled extensively.

It was a cover that Mycroft felt would work well, given the changing world. He had long been able to hide behind the façade of a "minor government official." But that story wasn't going to fly anymore in a world that was increasingly full of people that didn't know how to mind their own business. Creating MI6 was a start. But having an insider that everyone thought was an outsider… Mycroft had struck gold.

When Maud died, Mycroft used the tragedy to Britain's advantage, sending Strallan to faraway places under the guise of mourning his wife. Anthony accepted the assignments, and the need for deception; though he had loved Maud well, he knew danger loomed.

But Anthony missed Maud dreadfully. She was the only person he fully shared his work with; she had an understanding of individuals that Anthony lacked. His reports to Mycroft always benefitted from Maud's insights. When Anthony had detected that Germany was building a submarine system, it was Maud that noted that the old Queen would not approve of such subterfuge. And she had been right, which had allowed Mycroft to craft a response that appeased Her Majesty and allowed the program to continue.

Shaking his head of the cobwebs of yesteryear, Mycroft Holmes studied the contents of the folder in front of him. Lady Edith Crawley, middle daughter of the Earl of Grantham. Considered the brains of the family, according to his contacts, she was a great reader, and had borrowing privileges in libraries at many of the noble estates in Yorkshire. Yet she was neglected by the family, being rather retiring in nature, and unconventional in looks. Mycroft approved. She would be an asset to Strallan, and to Britain. He gave no thought to what would have been done if she had proved to be unreliable, as Maud had been.

 **AN: I am using the canon of the current TV show Sherlock as established by the Christmas episode. Hope that clarified things.**


	3. Chapter 3

_One month later…._

He was cold. The basement he had been hiding in for a week was damp, and the cold had become a permanent part of him. He hadn't had a hot meal since reaching the safe house. The spy business was not at _all_ glamorous.

Stewart, his butler at Angenehm, had insisted coming with him when he had left the estate and dismissed the servants. It had been a godsend that he had, as they were both able to move fairly easily from town to town as an aristocrat with impeccable papers and his manservant. Anthony realized now it would have been impossible to get as far as they had without Stewart, it would have seemed too suspicious for a Baron to be traveling without his valet. It was a wonder he hadn't been caught coming into Germany, but this war had yet to have everyone at their guard.

But their luck had run out in Bonn, where he had spotted another of the aristocracy who was also quite far up in the German government. Von Strasselburg knew of Strallan's affiliation with England. So they had had to abandon the idea of the train station, and instead had walked to the next contact on his list, who had luckily been willing to hide him and "hire on" a new butler until arrangements could be made.

The picture of Edith reminded him of what there was to return to. As he the cradled the picture in his hands, he thought about their courtship. He had married Maud because it was expected of him, and they were very fond of each other. She was clever, but reserved, funny, but quiet.

Edith, however, had enchanted him, more so as he grew to know her better. When she accepted him, he had been ecstatic that he had not left the party after Mary's attempt to hurt her sister. The thought of touching her lips... and more… kept him warm.

It was time. Stewart opened the basement door, and handed him clothes more suitable to a peasant. "I apologize, my lord, but Lord Haugwitz has made plans for us to "ride the rails" as _landstreicher…."_

Anthony actually smiled. "I had always wanted to do so as a child," he said, changing quickly in the cold. "As long as we can get to the Belgium front, I don't care if we have to go as circus performers!" He sobered a bit as he held out a letter for Stewart to take.

"This _must_ reach my superiors. If anything happens to me, you must go to my estate in Yorkshire and call the number written here."

Stewart took the letter carefully. His family had served the Strallan von Angenehm family for generations. His loyalty was to his lord, not to the foolish king who had sided with the arrogant Hapsburgs.

"Come, let us go," Anthony said in German. Stewart knew not to speak English again until they were free.

 _Three Months Later…._

Richard Stevens, solicitor to the Strallan family since he had taken over the practice from his father 40 years ago, stood stock still as he shut the door after his visitor. He had _heard_ of Mycroft Holmes, of course, everyone that had any business with Whithall did, eventually, but he had never thought to meet the man who was whispered to be "the shadow behind the thrown."

But the war was creating desperate times. More men were volunteering daily. It did not look like there would be a quick ending to this conflict. No, this conflict would reshape the world. And that power of change was even to be felt in Yorkshire. And Major Strallan was playing a major role in that change. If he was still alive.

"Mr. Stevens, are you alright?" his young secretary asked. Stevens turned to her, and blinked. "Yes. Cancel all appointments for this week. I will be at the Strallan Estate in Yorkshire if you must reach me."

"Are you leaving _now?_ " she almost screeched. Stevens sighed. The young did not deal well with damage control.

"Yes. Send Johnny to my house. Tell him to tell Rodgers to pack lightly and meet me at the 11am train. And I need to send a telegram to Downton Abby in Yorkshire."

Susan stared at him for a few seconds in shock. She broke out of her stupor with a hasty "Yes, sir!" and ran outside to find the messenger boy. The war was changing everything.

Lady Edith read the telegram Carson handed to her at the breakfast table several times, her breath shallow. "Edith?" Lord Grantham asked. "What is it?"

"Anthony's solicitor will be here later today. He says he needs to speak to me… about "provisions made on my behalf by Sir Anthony before taking his leave," she choked out. She looked up at her father, tears in her eyes. "Papa, what does that mean? Is he –"

"No, I'm sure it doesn't mean that," Grantham said hastily. "Strallan's a Major, the information of… a death… wouldn't come through his solicitor." He took a drink of coffee, thinking it through. "It has been some months, however. Anthony may have set something up in the eventuality of being away too long."

That calmed her a bit. She finished her breakfast, went back to her room, and called for Anna. She changed into her most adult-looking dress, taking a page from Mary's style sense. She wanted to come across as older and capable, but not frumpy. She had no idea what this Mr. Stevens would say, but she wanted to be ready for anything.

She waited in the drawing room patiently, playing the piano, reading. Finally, Carson announced the solicitor. Lord Grantham came in and shook the man's hand as she stood.

"Lord Grantham, Lady Edith. It is a pleasure to meet you both," he said staidly.

"Is it?" Edith's voice wavered with emotion.

"Please allow me to explain," he said. Robert directed him to a seat. "I have had communication with…" Here his paused, and lowered his voice, "Mycroft Holmes."

Robert made a small noise of surprise. Edith looked between them, confused. "Holmes? The detective?"

"No, they were brothers. Sherlock Holmes died about ten years ago. Mycroft, however…." He was nearly wringing his hands with nervousness.

"I've heard of Mycroft Holmes," Robert said. "Never spoken to him of course."

"Well, who is he, then?" Edith asked, exasperation in her voice hiding the concern.

"'The shadow behind the thrown', or so it's said," Robert replied, a bit awestruck. "In a way, he IS England. I knew Strallan was a government advisor, but I didn't realize…"

"Quite." Stevens replied. "I believe that's why Holmes contacted me at all. Much better to do this through intermediaries."

"DO WHAT!?" Edith almost shouted. She had had it. Both men looked at her, and blinked, bringing themselves back to the present.

"Major Strallan has been taken captive by German forces inside Belgium, according the Mr. Holmes," Steven said. It was brutal. Edith cried out, "No!", half standing in horror, while Robert steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Our people are in the process of locating him for a rescue mission, but the Germans keep moving him around. They are hoping to find him before they move him inside Germany, where it would be much harder to get at him." Here he looked Lord Grantham in the eye. "I was told specifically by Mr. Holmes that Sir Anthony has information on spies operating in England. And I was told specifically to tell you this information."

Robert nodded thoughtfully. "He can track how information flows from one person to another, maybe root out the traitor that way," he said. Stevens nodded.

"But that is not my main concern. I am officially here as Sir Anthony's solicitor. On the day he left, he left instructions, changing his will. Should he be incapacitated or missing, the control of Locksleigh falls completely to Lady Edith."

Edith gasped. "I couldn't possibly!" she said.

Robert looked at Stevens sharply. "Is that wise?" he asked. Stevens shrugged.

"Wise or not, it is what he wished. I have been informed that his butler from the German estate has arrived at the house, and someone must decide on his place. Other details of the estate are becoming problematic, as well, with no one to make decisions. Normally, I would have consulted his sister, Mrs. Chetworth, in London, but Sir Anthony's instructions were very clear. Lady Edith is to be given full control of Locksleigh and all other business affairs until his return, as well as a personal salary of 700 pounds a month for the rest of her life. This salary is irregardless of marriage."

Edith's eyes grew large. She had never wanted for anything, but she had never had money to spend without asking her father. "Why would he do that?"

"If you like my opinion, Lady Edith, I believe Sir Anthony did not want you to feel obligated to marriage when he returns, and wished to make sure you were provided for if he were to die. In case of death, Locksleigh becomes yours." He looked at her steadily, almost assessing her. "If I may say so, he is a very honorable man."

Edith was almost panting. It was too much to take in. She focused on one aspect, looking at her Papa. "Will I need to live at Locksleigh?" she asked, trying to process the confusing emotions swirling within her.

"That would be my suggestion. I would think it difficult to make the decisions necessary without living there full time." Stevens said.

Robert nodded. "It is not ideal, without a marriage done, but you are officially engaged. And this is war. Do something for the war effort with the estate, and I would think any gossip would be minimized."

"A very good idea, Lord Grantham," Stevens said as he stood. "Can I tell the staff to expect you tomorrow, Lady Edith? Say, 10 o'clock? There will be a bit of paperwork to sign."

"Yes, I suppose that will work," Edith said as confidently as she could muster. Lord Grantham rang for Carson. "Carson please show Mr. Stevens out and ask Lady Grantham, Lady Mary and Lady Sybil if they would come to the drawing room."

Alone, Robert turned to his daughter. "I think the information about Strallan's situation should remain between us," he said to her quietly. "Britain has many enemies. We don't want to make you a target."

Edith nodded, almost unable to speak with the whirlwind in her mind. "But…" she added slowly, thinking it through, "He does love me, doesn't he, Papa?"

"Yes," Robert said simply. "I was a bit concerned at first, especially at his age, I'll admit. But this does show his commitment to you. We'll want people to know that."

Cora and Mary come in. "What this about, Robert?" Robert looked back at his daughter.

Yes, the war was changing everything.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft Holmes shook his newspaper in agitated frustration. It been over a year since Strallan had left for Germany, and the only information he had received about the man's whereabouts had been from Strallan's German butler. It had confirmed what Strallan and he had postulated: there was a vast network of German sympathizers in the UK.

He had needed Strallan to go. As his hand-picked protégé to be the top officer in MI6, Strallan needed the field experience and the respect of those beneath him. The contacts he had cultivated over the years had to know that they could trust him. Once Strallan moved behind a desk permanently, those contacts would be invaluable.

But Strallan had only been able to come up with a few names before he was captured. And now the enemy was moving him from location to location in Germany. For what purpose? If they wanted him in Germany again, they simply would have flown him. Airplanes were still somewhat new to warfare, but extremely useful for moving precious cargo quickly.

Mycroft folded his newspaper and steepled his fingers in thought.

If they hadn't already moved Strallan to Germany, it implied that they didn't know who he was. It also implied he had not cracked, as information about strategy and many other things Strallan had been privy to at the beginning of the war had not yet been compromised.

But why continually move him around Belgium? Mycroft closed his eyes, picturing the locations he had been able to confirm Strallan had been held.

Was there a pattern to the locations?

Who was also at the locations?

While deep in thought, a Club employee brought him a telegram on a small silver platter. Mycroft blinked his eyes wearily. Not having enough data was exhausting.

He read the telegram, and then read it again. A supply tunnel had been targeted with shells. A very specific supply tunnel, one that his agents knew was abandoned. It was to be used in case one was being interrogated and were about to become compromised.

He picked up the phone, and began the process of tracking who in the German command gave the order for the assault. It would have to have been done quickly, if the information was accurate, therefore the location of the commander giving the order who most likely be the original location of the information source.

Strallan. They had found him. And they needed to get to him soon.

Mycroft would send orders for the nearest platoon to attempt a rescue as soon as they had a location. Mycroft regretted the loss of life, but there was no recourse. He sighed. There never was.

A year and a month. Edith Crawley had been Lady Strallan in all but name for thirteen months. She could hardly remember what he life had been like before. She was busy from dawn 'till dark, and usually hit her bed in Locksleigh exhausted. But it was an immensely satisfying life, though nothing like she imagined it would be to be the Lady of an estate.

She had jumped right into her role, making decisions about the running of the house and the estate based on all of the reading she had done, and still did, dedicating time after church on Sunday to educating herself on a particular topic, from husbandry to indoor plumbing. She had given the title of Estate Agent to Davis, Anthony's English butler, as they both got on well and together found that they knowledge complimented each others. She had made Stewart, Anthony's German butler, the new butler of Locksleigh. His slight German accent could have been a problem if he interacted with the public more.

The staff grew to respect her judgement, seeing that she made decisions based on the best information she had and how it could best serve Locksleigh. If they thought anything about the unusualness of having such an active lady of the house, they kept it to themselves.

Of course, it was not ideal. It simply wasn't what Edith wanted, to have Anthony absent for so long with no knowledge of his whereabouts, or whether he was even still alive. But it still amazed Edith how different life could be when allowed to make decisions for oneself. When breakfast was to be served, if they should buy more pigs, or how to help the war effort.

Edith had early on taken her father's advice, and asked him to contact the War Office about supplying food to soldiers. Locksleigh had been known for their pork production for generations. All she had needed was a processing plant, which the government happily built her in York, and Locksleigh became the leading supplier for salt pork to Britain and allied forces throughout Europe. And she actually managed to make a small profit, keeping costs low enough to be able to put away some of the compensation that the government gave her for each pig. She hoped Anthony would be pleased.

But this afternoon she decided to give herself some time off. It was raining pretty heavily, so she decided on a little indoor exploration. Locksleigh was so much more inviting and interesting than Downton Abby, no matter its smaller size. There were nooks and odd doors leading to pantries with unused tablecloths and other household items. Downton might have more in expensive artwork (though the collection here was very interesting), but Locksleigh, for its lack of a lady for nearly a decade, definitely was more "lived in."

Edith walked the main corridor. She had explored Anthony's room only cursory, after the tour that Davis, Anthony's butler-now estate agent, had given her in the beginning. She didn't want the staff to think she was a tramp. She herself had taken the room next to Anthony's. Not the connecting one, of course. That was Maud's room.

She opened the connecting door from Anthony's room. If she was going to poke around in Maud's room, she rather the staff not see her. It was clearly a feminine room, decorated in delicate blue cornflowers, and though it obviously was cleaned regularly, it clearly had been preserved exactly as Maud had left it on the day she died. Other than the bed being made, the room looked as if its mistress had just stepped out a few minutes ago, her diary sitting on her writing desk, still open to the page she had been writing on days before her death.

Edith was reluctant to read Maud's final thoughts. Maybe she would, after she become the official new mistress of Locksleigh. But for now, she left the diary as it was and offhandedly opened the desk drawer. And then stared at it, confusion making her eyebrows furrow.

The desk drawer was shallower on the inside than it should have been. The trick of the false bottom was easy to spot, if one was looking for such things. Edith pulled on the ribbon she found after searching with her hands in the drawer, and the "bottom" came up with ease.

Edith sat down, and pulled out sheet after sheet, all in German. She remembered Anthony telling her Maud was from an old Austrian family, whom his father had business dealings with. Edith read only a tiny bit of German, she had opted to study French more closely when given a choice in her education. But she knew Anthony's library had a German-English dictionary.

Edith took the sheets of writing to the library and sat for hours, translating. Stewart had asked her if dinner was to be served, and she shook her head negatively, asking only for some cheese and fruit. She translated long into the night.

They were all letters from contacts back home, asking for more details on Anthony's work in Intelligence. Clearly Anthony had confided in Maud about topics that he was working on, and even more clearly he did not know that she was passing on the information, form the condescending way Anthony was spoken of in the letters.

Edith stretched in her chair. She was nearly through translating all of the correspondence, but the conclusion was undeniable.

Maud had been a traitor.


	5. Chapter 5

_It was dark, but then a blinding light was shoved at his eyes. "Please," he whispered, desperate for sleep…._

 _"She will make a lovely wife," the voice whispered, shoving something into his shoulder._

 _He screamed…._

 _EAEAEAEAEAEA_

 __Captain Matthew Crawley read his orders with confusion. They were to overtake a little hospital in Huy. Today, if possible.

Why, for God's sake? He shook his head in frustration. He estimated he'd lose nearly half his platoon to do it, as they would have to travel outside the trenches. But if he was going to follow orders, he'd have to do it soon: the telegram made it clear that they should leave within the hour to make the raid successful.

Mathew huffed in resignation. Maybe, this time, Command actually had a plan.

They had to fight their way through the city, though resistance was less that he had expected. Luckily, it had been evacuated of civilians just hours earlier as troops closed in. Clearly the takeover had not been expected, with much in the way of supplies had been left behind. A boon.

The hospital looked deserted. Captain Crawley had his men search room to room, as he found the hospital's telegraph room and had one of his soldiers schooled in code send a message back to his superiors that they had taken the hospital and were awaiting further instructions.

He still had no idea what they were doing here, why this hospital, or if they weren't just orders given from some administrator in London pushing toy troops around a board.

"Captain! I've found some people!" A sergeant yelled from a hallway. "And I think they're ours, sir!"

Matthew made his way to a room at the far end of the hall. It was a ghastly scene, with three of the four men dead laying in beds. They were naked, but they still wore their identity tags, except for the one still living.

But Matthew didn't need identity tags to identify this man.

"Strallan." Matthew breathed out, taking it in. He had heard through the chain that Strallan was in Intelligence, but had thought he was in Germany. What was he doing in Belgium? He was wounded, but the bullet hole in his shoulder didn't look healed. Matthew was no doctor, but the wound looked fresh, as if….

Matthew's eyes snapped over to the other dead men, also with fresh wounds.

"My God…" Matthew whispered. These men had been tortured. Experimented on.

"Get the medic, right now!" Captain Crawley barked. "This man is Major Strallan, get his some clothes!" God, Edith would never forgive him if he let her fiancé die.

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA

"Hello?"

"Um, hello. This is Lady Edith Crawley."

Mycroft Holmes sat bolt upright. How could she have known?

"Is this… Anthony's boss?"

"You could say that," Mycroft answered carefully.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "I found some letters… to Maud."

"Letters?" Mycroft hesitated, unsure of where this conversation was going. She didn't seem to be asking about Strallan….

"Yes. In German. I've been translating them." Again, Edith paused. "Did you know…?"

Mycroft decided to play a card. "That she was untrustworthy? Yes."

"It's more than that," Edith continued, breathless. "Can we meet, in London? I could go to Strallan House for a few days, to make sure everything was being taken care of…."

"I will come for afternoon tea next Tuesday," Mycroft answered. And hung up.

"So you see, Maud most definitely had contact with another person. In Yorkshire," Lady Edith concluded after showing Mycroft Holmes her translations. "But the letters never mentions him- or her, I suppose- by name, only the codename 'P'."

Mycroft sat back on the sofa, drinking his tea thoughtfully.

"I do need to mention something else, however," he started. "And I apologize for not mentioning it earlier, though it is still considered classified information." Mycroft looked at Edith intently before continuing. She nodded, understanding. "Anthony has been located."

Edith's eyes widened, but otherwise her composure held. She had learned much in the last year. "Located?" she focused on his words. "What does that mean?"

"It means he is very unwell, and will not be coming home soon," Mycroft tried to say as gently as he could. "To be quite honest, it may very well be another year before he can return. His wounds were… extensive."

Tears spilt from Edith's eyes unbidden. She wiped them away deliberately. "When can I tell everyone?"

"Captain Matthew Crawley's unit was the one that found him," Mycroft explained, "so it will be hard to keep it a secret once he comes home on leave. He's scheduled to be back for a visit in three months. Can you wait until then?"

"Will it help Anthony?" she asked.

"Yes, I think it will. It will give him time to heal without anyone knowing. More will be explained to you when he returns," Mycroft shifted in his seat uncomfortably. What was done to Strallan might not be able to be undone….

"Then you have my silence, though I would ask something of you." Mycroft looked at her with a slightly bemused smile. This fearless woman was the wife for the new head of MI6, he thought.

"If I can, I will."

"I would like to write to him. Tell him what I've done here, that I'm waiting for him. I don't want him to think that he's not needed, or hasn't been missed. Can you arrange that?"

Mycroft's smile was genuine now. "Yes, I can do that."

"Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

_**AN: This was a hard chapter to write. It's a bit of a bridging chapter, but I really wanted to mention the time gap that Anthony would have been in the hospital. That the show very mentions this time, to me, is a travesty. The chapter ends a bit awkwardly, in my opinion, because I needed to end it to get it posted for y'all. Let me know what you think, especially after you read the next chapter, how I could have ended it smoother. Enjoy!**_

 _Dear Anthony,_

 _I am so glad to know that you have been found! Please be assured that my family and I look forward to your return to Locksleigh._

 _I also must thank you for giving me a place in your estate. I hope that I have done well with your generosity. Papa helped me to convince the War Office to establish a meat processing plant dedicated to the war effort in York. To that effect, I (with the help of Davis, whom I named Estate Agent) have increased the number of pigs Locksleigh raises. The estate is now the main supplier of pork to our soldiers in Europe. The return is not high, but we do manage to turn a small profit. I hope you approve._

 _I also appointed Stewart as Locksleigh's butler. I hope that is acceptable to you, though of course you will make the changes you deem necessary when you return._

 _I have been informed of your poor health. For that, I am truly sorry. But I am so very thankful that you are alive. With the war now in its third year, so many men that we knew have not returned._

 _There are many other things I want to discuss with you, but a letter is simply not the place. Please just know that I think of your hourly, and long for your safe return home._

 _Yours,_

 _Edith_

 _My Dear Edith,_

 _I am dictating this to a wonderful nurse who is willing to help me in this way. I have received a wound to my right arm that is slow to heal. I may need to learn to write with my left and at some point, but for now…It was truly wonderful to receive your letter. This war makes one feel that there is only The War, and nothing else. Your words were sweet reminders that this is not true._

 _I am wondrously ecstatic at how well you have taken care of Locksleigh, though it really should not surprise me. Your intelligence and resourcefulness are delightful to me, and I'm sure any changes you have made are worth considering. N ikktxcktcxtk_

 _Recovery is slow. The trip, clearly, did not go as planned, though there is little else I can say in a letter. I will bear wounds from this war for the rest of my life. While I am grateful to be alive, I am concerned about what is possible for me whence I return to Locksleigh. Again, these are not things to be discussed in a letter, but in person._

 _Please continue as you see fit. I can only hope that my recovery rate will increase so that I may be transported to Locksleigh for a longer convalescence._

 _Always,_

 _Anthony_

 _My Dearest Anthony,_

 _In reading your last letter, I see your concern for your wounds as an impediment to our future marriage. Please forgive me for being so bold, but having spent the most of the last two and a half years in the company of professional men, I have taken to speaking my mind and getting directly to the point more than perhaps I ought. It has been marvelous for getting things accomplished, however._

 _Please be assured that I am no longer a delicate person in need of protection. I have seen pig-breeding, driven myself to York, negotiated with Captains, and managed servants. Downton has turned itself into a convalescent center for soldiers, so I have also seen my fair share of wounds, and wounded men. Please do not fear that any wounds you have received bravely serving your country will horrify me._

 _I agree that much can only be said in person. Many things have become clear to me that were not very clear at all. But I wish to be very clear that I still anxiously look forward to your homecoming, and anticipate talking about our future. Together._

 _Your Edith_

Anthony read and reread this last letter. It always brought tears to his eyes. He was so tired. He slept so very little nowadays, as the nightmares of what had been done to him in the different "hospitals" allowed him only a few hours a sleep a night.

He had tried to document everything he could remember, and something things he speculated about, but still no one was quite sure what it was all for. The wound didn't seem to be a part of any medical experimentation, other than to cause him a great deal of pain. He wondered if the pain was created for a special purpose, but they hadn't seemed to ask many questions, other to be extremely interested in the woman in the photograph he had carried in his pocket. He was reasonably sure he had never said her name.

The Edith in these letters was so different than the girl he had left behind. He knew that would be off-putting for some men of his class, but it only made him feel proud. Proud, and concerned, that such a woman would want him, or be trapped into a life with a cripple. He couldn't feel his arm anymore. It was better than the pain, but he knew it meant there was no hope for the nerves.

The nightmares bled his pain, concern, and love of Edith together into a ghoulish brew that had him screaming himself awake most nights. The doctors could do little, with the science of the mind being such a new field. They were calling it "shell shock", though every soldier seemed to suffer differently. Anthony not only feared for his sanity at times, but for Edith. What could he be capable of, now?

Edith put her pen down and sighed. There simply was no way to explain what she had found out about Maud in a letter. If Mycroft Holmes hadn't already told him, he would have to be told when he came home.

And that worried Edith to the point of nearly making her sick to her stomach. She knew that Anthony had loved Maud. She didn't want to be the one to destroy that, and she was afraid of how he would think about her, Edith, afterwards. Would he hate her?

Mycroft had hinted that Anthony would not be coming home whole. She had seen the night terrors suffered by the soldiers at Downton, "shell shock," and it was awful. What could the knowledge of the betrayal of his first love, coupled with what he had endured in Belgium, do to his mind?

 _January, 1918_

"He will be arriving on the 1pm train," Mycroft Holmes' crisp, dry voice explained to Edith over the phone with no preamble. "Please do not meet him yourself, but send Stewart. Allow him some time to adjust."

"Thank you," Edith tried hard not to sound like the sobbing mess she was inside. Mr. Holmes was not the type of person that appreciated displays of female emotion. "But please… has Anthony been told anything…."

"About Maud?" Mycroft finished. And then paused. "No. To be frank, Lady Edith, I could not think of a way to mention it to him without adding to his already considerable burden. He has been through much." They were both silent for a moment. "May I make a suggestion?" His voice was softer, now.

"Yes, please."

"Simply hand him the letters. Allow him to gain the information the way you did. Sir Anthony is one of my best. It may take him some time, but he will not appreciate the knowledge of his late wife's betrayal being withheld from him." Of course, Mycroft thought wirily, he won't appreciate that I knew for nearly two years. But that was the cost and the burden of being _him._

Anthony closed his eyes as the car stopped in front of Locksleigh. _Home,_ he thought tiredly. The estate that he loved, and a woman that loved him. The war wasn't quite over, but it would be, hopefully this year. But he knew life would never be the same.

Edith tried to keep herself from running out the door when the car came into site. _Anthony!_ Was all she could think. He was home. For her, the war was over. And life could truly begin.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Thank you all SO much for the lovely responses and helpful reviews! These next few chapters are going to be tough, emotionally, and both Anthony and Edith need to work through some major issues, but I am so glad that you seem to be willing to stay the course with me! Onward!**

Edith came out to greet Anthony. But her smile fell as Stewart helped him out of the car. It was clear that he was still not well. And Edith instantly felt shy as all of society's expectations came crashing down on her. They were engaged. They probably should have a chaperone. How affectionate could she be in public?

Anthony looked up at her, and grasp her hand as he reached her. His tried to contain his conflicting emotions. He wanted her to know how grateful he was to her, he wanted everyone to know how well she had done for Locksleigh. He wanted to gather her up in his arms, only to hate himself for tying her to an old cripple. And the night terrors. How long would they last?

"Oh, welcome home, Anthony. Please, let's go in and sit down. We can have tea if you'd like, or you can rest first." Edith said, in a slightly pleading voice. There was so much to discuss.

"I will confess, resting sounds divine. One cannot sleep properly on a train, no matter the class compartment," Anthony said, with his shy smile. Her worries about telling him about Maud faded away as his blue eyes memorized her. She would do anything for this man. She blinked a few times, trying to bring herself back to the present.

"Of course. Hannah freshened your room up as soon as we heard you were coming today, so everything is ready for you. We'll have dinner at six, and I'll invite Mama and Papa, if you don't mind," she said as he walked slowly inside. He understood her meaning as if they had been married for decades. She wouldn't be able to spend the night, unmarried. Not without even a date announced, no matter what support Locksleigh was giving the war effort.

He looked into her warm, brown eyes, and his heart pounded. While their mutual understanding surprised him for the simple fact that they truly did know so little of each other, it also delighted him. And then it made him so terribly sad. He was sure to be a horrible disappointment.

The meal over, drinks poured and drank, meaningless conversation with Robert finished, they were all outside. Edith would return to Downton with Robert and Cora. Anthony knew it was necessary, but his chest was tight. He did not want to spend the night alone.

"I'll come first thing in the morning. Mama says it will be alright to have breakfast together, especially if we announce a date right away," Edith said as her parents waited in the car. Anthony drank in the sight of her. Her slight, shy smile, her clear shining eyes. She was stunning.

"That will be wonderful. I want to hear everything that's happened, and there are…things…I need to tell you as well." Anthony nearly stuttered over the last part. He hadn't yet really decided _what_ he would tell Edith.

"Good," she nearly whispered, lifting herself up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before turning to get into the car. Anthony stood, speechless, as they drove off.

He couldn't give her up. He just _couldn't._

He was exhausted as Stewart helped him get ready for bed. So much so that he was nearly shaking as he pulled the covers over him with his one good hand. He had warned Stewart. It would not be a good night.

Several hours later, the screaming began.

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA

"I can't see how I could have done things better. I am very grateful I left Locksleigh in such good hands," Anthony said to Edith the next morning, after looking over all of the finances. He looked tired, Edith thought, but was so engaging and complimentary that she brushed the though aside.

"I am very glad you think so," Edith said. She put down her cup. "But there is something else I need to tell you. Something… less pleasant." Anthony looked at her, a bit shocked.

"What is it, my dear? Please know you can tell me anything." Edith sighed, and walked over to his writing desk, opening a drawer. Anthony's eyebrows rose, but only for a second as he reasoned she had been living in this house for nearly three years. She would have needed to use his writing desk regularly.

She extracted a few sheets of paper, handing them to him. "I found these in Maud's room. I'm not sorry I went there, I was just trying to know her, and therefore you, better. But I am sorry for what I found."

Anthony's clear blue eyes showed confusion as he started to read the letters. "I don't understand…." he mumbled. After a few minutes, reading quickly through the letters, he looked up at her. "Did you read these?" he said more sharply than he had intended, the man taking over for Mycroft Holmes coming to the foreground.

"Yes," Edith said simply. "My German's nowhere near at your level, of course, but I used your dictionary." Here she paused, looking at her hands. "I found them about a year ago. I didn't know what to do… so I told Mr. Holmes." Anthony sucked in a breath. She looked him straight in his eyes, with tears forming in her own. "I got the impression that he wasn't surprised."

Anthony couldn't sit anymore. He stood abruptly and headed for the big bay window, still clutching the letters in his hand.

Edith was trying hard not to sob out loud. Maud was ruining her life from the grave, and there didn't seem to be anything she could do about it. But she didn't want to burden Anthony with her fears. She wanted to be a true partner, a helpmeet, a friend. All that might be gone, just because of this.

"I need time, Edith," he finally said, softly. "I'm sorry, but I do. I need time to think about all of this." He turned to look at her, clearly controlling his emotions. He swallowed, overwhelmed. "Though I realize that Society will not give us that time. I am a cripple –no, please let me finish," he said as Edith tried to interrupt. "I also have wounds from the war that cannot be seen, ones that we have not talked about. They are considerable. I am also much older than you, which could make these wounds even worse as the years go by, to make you a widow before I'm actually dead. And now, to top the cake, as they say, I find that my late wife thought so little of me as to be a traitor in my own home. I am uncertain that I should burden you with all of this." He looked at her, unable to hide how much the thought of her leaving saddened him.

Edith stood. She was nearly shaking from so many emotions raging through her. "You will never be a burden. You are a War Hero, and I am so very proud of you. I want to make you, this house, my life's work. It is myself that I'm worried to "be a burden", to my parents, to Mary, who will be Lady Grantham someday, to society. You are they only one that has _ever_ seen worth in me." She looked away, wiping away a tear that escaped from her eyelash. "I am desperate not to seem like I'm begging, but I am also desperately in love with you." She gasped mouthfuls of air, nearly sobbing now. "There, I said it. I know it's not proper to display so much emotion, but I…." she couldn't continue.

"Edith," he murmured, hugging her with his arm, feeling her relax against him. He looked her in the eyes tenderly. "If we can always talk candidly to each other, I think we will do fine, indeed. I also, am very much in love with you, and find myself unable to send you away, not matter how selfish that seems. Please, chose a date a month or so from now, and ask Lady Grantham to announce it publically."

Edith stared at him for a moment, the strong emotional tide she had ridden to tell him the secrets of her heart not quite letting her understand his last sentence. But then she broke into a wide grin, her eyes sparkling. "Really?" she nearly squealed.

"Yes," Anthony said, with a great grin of his own. To be able to make this woman so happy by offering what he thought of as so little, humbled him. He would spend the rest of his life making himself worthy of her.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I have significantly updated chapters 5 and 7- I felt that more detail was needed, so please re-read them if you are following this story. Also, please comment on Anthony's symptoms. I've done some research, but let me know if anything seems completely unrealistic. I apologize that they last few chapters have been shorter, but they have been a bugger to write. So much feels! :) Hope you enjoy!**

"Nothing was forwarded to me about shell-shock, Sir Anthony," Dr. Clarkson peered over him, displeased, as he lay in his bed. Somehow, Stewart and Davis had managed to stop the bleeding, get his up to his bed, and call the doctor. _I must remember to give them both a raise,_ Anthony thought, somewhat amused at the ridiculousness of the situation.

His expression made Dr. Clarkson even more perturbed, however. "I'm quite serious, Sir Anthony. The consequences of shell-shock are just now being studied. But as your…experiences… are still classified, I can't even properly treat you with the techniques we _do_ know." He paused for a moment, looking away from Sir Anthony as he asked, quietly, "Have you spoken to Lady Edith about this?"

"No. No, not yet," Anthony signed heavily, bringing his hand up to rub his forehead, but then stopping in mid-air, remembering his wound. He lay his arm back down, frustrated.

"I highly recommend that you explain at least some things to her, preferably before the wedding," Clarkson suggested. "There are behavioral issues that could continue for years."

"Yes, thank you Doctor," Anthony replied. Dr. Clarkson knew a dismissal when he heard one. He gave some instructions to Stewart as he left, concerned about a possible concussion.

But Anthony had a bit more on his mind. He'd be making a phone call in the morning. It was time Mycroft Holmes visited Locksleigh.

EAEAEAEAEAEAEA

"Did you know?" Anthony asked Mycroft forcefully. He backed off slightly at the look the older man gave him, but it didn't cool his rage. Mycroft picked up his teacup and sipped his tea without replying.

Anthony walked to the bay window. It was becoming a habit, looking out onto his estate. It seemed to be the only acceptable outlet for all the emotions he was feeling lately.

"Yes. And no," Mycroft finally replied in his dry London accent. "Information had come to me soon after you were married that her loyalties were not to England. But there was little else. And I certainly did not know how much information you were providing her," here Anthony accepted Mycroft's disapproving look.

"It helped to talk with her. She was so intelligent, I sometimes wondered what I would ever do without her," Anthony said sadly. But the anger boiled up again, as if beyond his control. "But why torture me _now_ about her? What could they hope to gain? Why?"

"They thought to control you through your wife, that much is clear," Mycroft steepled his fingers. "But once she died, they…" Mycroft stopped, watching Anthony intensely. He was nearly bent over at his desk, keeping himself upright with his good arm, panting.

"Strallan, what –"

" _Wife._ That's the word," Anthony struggled to say as he stumbled to the sofa. "Keep me awake. Anything."

"They've implanted a word suggestion, somehow, like a trigger," Mycroft spoke as loud as he could while helping Anthony drink some tea. He then stomped on Anthony's foot.

"Ah!" Anthony complained, but was able to blink and clear his vision. The rush of blood to his head dissipated.

"They knew exactly who you were," Mycroft realized. And then he saw the pattern, as if his words unlocked the map in his mind. "They were mental hospitals. All of the places we were able to confirm they moved you to. They've been preparing you for this. Maud may have even been trained to do this…brainwashing, but she died before it was complete. That's what the letters suggest. That you were being mentally experimented on. And when they got ahold of you…."

"They continued what they had started," Anthony finished. "My God, Mycroft, am I compromised?"

"I honestly don't know. I will have to ask some experts, but quite honestly, all of the experts in this field are Germans."

Mycroft leaned back in the sofa, feeling defeated. And then shook his head, clearing his mind. "But I think we have a clue how to circumvent the affects. We now know the "trigger word," so to speak. We also know that an external stimulus, such as pain, will bring you out of it. I would think they were trying to see if they could implant a suggestion. You pass out at the mention of the word. Imagine if they could get you to do something else at its mention. Kill someone, for example."

"Mycroft, I'm getting married to Edith in a month! That word is going to be said dozens of times between now and then!"

"You must minimize contact with her until then. Your marriage is the focal point. They used _that_ word for a reason. I'm nearly certain the "P" in the letters will appear soon." Mycroft stood. "We may well be close to completely exposing the spy circle that you postulated existed over ten years ago. We _must_ stay the course."

Anthony nodded, but was still worried. Was Edith in danger?

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA

Anthony lied to someone he loved for the first time in his life, telling Edith he would need to be in London for several weeks.

"I will return on the 5th, and you've scheduled everything for the 8th," he tried to sound reasonable. Edith merely nodded, confused, knowing there was something going on, but trusting Anthony in a way she had never trusted anyone before.

""Do you have a Best Man? You hadn't mentioned anyone," Edith asked, trying to quell the feeling of anxious dread.

"I've asked my brother-in-law," Anthony said. "Thought my dear sister is dead, he seemed the most appropriate. Visiting him in London is another task I will accomplish when I'm gone. I'm sure he will simply return with me." He looked at her with his beautiful, clear blue eyes, gently taking her hand.

Edith couldn't help but blush, though she thought she should be passed that point. Everything about him filled her with desire. She nearly couldn't stand waiting weeks before this man could touch her somewhere besides her fingertips.

"I will have everything ready. MaMa is being rather helpful, and so is Granny. I think they both are worried what people will say if we _don't_ get married, though I know they all think…." She looked down, embarrassed of her family.

"I understand," Anthony knew exactly what they thought of him. Robert had barley been willing to give his blessing. But he was not going to leave her to the company of those who did not appreciated her. He knew the consequences of women in his class of a certain age. This kind, quiet, solitary creature was not to be left behind. He would find a way to fix whatever had been done to him. And then he would take Mycroft Holmes' place, and give Edith the life that she deserved, even if he was an old codger with one arm.

"All I ask is that _you_ understand what you are taking on," he finished his thought out loud. "They may possibly never enthusiastically approve. I worry that this marriage will cause too much contention between you and them. I don't wish you to ever feel oppressed, or held back. You have so much life ahead of you," he said wistfully.

"And so do you," she said right back to him. Anthony smiled. He would never convince her otherwise.

He reached out with his good hand and touched her cheek. He, then feeling very forward, but overriding his sense of propriety, bent down slightly, and without asking, kissed her.

Edith leaned into the kiss. This was the life she wanted, to be able to kiss this man with no formality, no awkwardness. He pulled away gently, and they stood there, smiling at each other. She gave him another quick peck on his cheek, and left the library. She would see him again on the day they would be wed.


	9. Chapter 9

Anthony paced in his library in London, while Mycroft watched. "I should call this off. It isn't safe for Edith," he said more to himself than to his guest. He had spoken with some of most brilliant minds in England about his "conditioning" while in London. They had given him the best advice available, but Anthony was not certain he was truly in control of his own actions.

"No," Mycroft said firmly. Anthony stopped his pacing to stare and the man in anger.

"Really? Are you actually going to tell me that sacrificing her is for the "good of England!?" Anthony nearly snarled at Mycroft.

Mycroft considered his next words while setting down his teacup. Internally, he was both concerned for his protégé and pleased at the same time. While Anthony could come across as extremely competent, he had previously lacked any edge. If Anthony could learn to channel this new anger….

"No. What I am saying is that you could put her in more danger by doing so," Mycroft finished smoothly. "What was done to you was done deliberately. They _knew_ of your engagement. They also knew about Maud. That is quite clear," Mycroft leaned back, deep in thought.

"Have you ever been in love, Mycroft?" Anthony asked abruptly. The question made Mycroft's eyes snap back open.

"That seems an odd question, from one that's known me for so long," he replied, picking back up his teacup. Anthony's eyes were directed at the gold band that had been on Mycroft's ring finger as long as he had known the man.

"I always thought it was just for show," he said slowly.

"No. It's a reminder of my loss, and mistakes I made early in life. I also thought to let her go, for safety's sake. But the world is not safe." He put his cup down firmly now, indicating that this line of discussion was closed.

"You are being watched. We've known for years, through your own research, that there are spies operating in England. But we have yet to determine how they connect to Yorkshire, to Ripon, or even to Locksleigh."

"I personally vouch for all of my staff," Anthony almost huffed.

Mycroft raised his eyebrow at him, and Anthony had the grace to concede the point. The linchpin spy was clearly someone that _everyone_ trusted. Meaning, that _no one_ could be trusted at all.

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA 

The morning of the wedding dawned clear and warm. Edith hummed happily as Anna helped her with her dress. She had been humming for days as she oversaw the preparations for her wedding. Finally! After so many years, she would truly be Lady Strallan.

Her mother and sisters were twittering around her, but she barley heard anything they said. She just kept smiling. She had even managed to work out some of the resentment with Mary, with a late-night conversation moderated by Sybil.

She had wanted to speak more with Anthony before the wedding, but it would be alright. _As long as we are honest with each other,_ she remembered. She trusted him.

And now it was time. Edith felt like the world was rushing passed her as she got into the car and headed for the church. Only her father's steady hand slowed time down again, as he beamed at her, holding her arm outside the church door, waiting.

Anthony tried not to fidget. The air seemed thick, almost heavy with anticipation. He looked at Reverend Travis, who smiled at Anthony, clearly trying to be reassuring. Anthony knew he must look a wreck. He couldn't keep the feeling that something was about to happen from showing on his face.

"She'll only be a minute, I'm sure," Travis said quietly, so that only Anthony heard. "I'm sure she'll make a wonderful wife."

 _She'll make a wonderful wife…wife..._

Anthony stared at Travis. With the pain came clarity. Maud had been raised Catholic. The "P", the codeword for her contact, stood for _Priest._


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: I am so sorry for the delay, but this was so hard to write! It's short because I needed to end the chapter and get it out to you! Thanks so much to everyone for the reviews and critique! Please keep it up! Onward!**

 _She'll make a wonderful wife, a wonderful wife...wife..._

Anthony stared at Travis, mouth slightly open, no longer in the present, but reliving the past….

 _She'll make a wonderful wife…pain, misery… a wonderful wife...you're a horrible person,_ _you_ _were a horrible husband! Maud hated you! Wife! Guilt, PAIN…._ The words rolled around inside his head, growing louder….

Until he bit the inside of his check, hard, bringing tears to his eyes. It was a trick one of the doctors mentioned, that real pain in the present could disrupt the conditioning.

His vision cleared, and the voices diminished. He could hear them whispering, on the back side of his mind, but they could be ignored. For now.

Now, though, he assessed the situation. Travis was watching him, obviously waiting for his reaction. He breathed heavily as Edith walked with her father towards him, radiant, beautiful.

Travis was the Yorkshire link. Trusted by everyone, not really known by anyone. Knowing this, all he had to do was get Travis to make contact with the chain, and they would have the entire traitorous network.

But here and now, he and Edith were in horrible danger. Who knows what they would do if they thought Edith knew anything. He had to play the part. They had to think that their torture worked.

Dear God, he was going to have to break her heart.

Her father shook his hand. To be convincing, he had to do this now. He closed his eyes, praying that she both loved and trusted him.

"I can't do this," he said.

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA

The next morning, Edith was curled up on her bed, still in her wedding gown, with no more tears to cry. Her heart had wept blood. Now, exhausted, she _thought._

 _How could he have done this to me? What happened between Anthony leaving for London and yesterday?_

 _This can't be real._

 _What am I missing?_

At the last thought, she raised her head and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. She _was_ missing something. She knew it. Nothing made any sense, otherwise.

Anthony would have never have accepted her only to leave her at the altar because of his insecurities, about his arm, his age. Those were simple excuses, nothing worthy of leaving a bride at the altar over. He was a better man than that.

No, it must have something to do with why he couldn't come home for so long. She was sure of it. Edith had always meant to ask him, but it seemed so private, an imposition. It was the one subject that he had evaded questions about, so she hadn't pushed the matter.

Now that she had reconciled some of the insanity whirling around her, she could face the world. She pushed herself out of bed, telling Anna "Spinsters get up for breakfast."

She would wait. Her time would come.

Mycroft Holmes arrived at Locksleigh in the dead of night. Only Stewart and Davis were privy to his arrival. He didn't even come inside. Instead, Anthony's men arranged some cold meats and cheese on a tray, and he ate in the car while talking to Sir Anthony.

"My god, Mycroft, what have I done?" Anthony asked, the stress of the last 24 hours lining his face.

"What you had to. We were blindsided. I have zero intelligence on this Travis, other than he was ordained a Catholic priest and then moved over to the Anglican Church shortly after your marriage to Maud. It's ridiculous I didn't see the connection." Mycroft handed his cup of tea to Stewart, who was waiting patiently on the other side of the car door.

"Move to London immediately. Hopefully that will take any attention off Lady Edith, and it will allow you to continue to work." Mycroft looked at his protégé sternly, but then his face softened. "You are going to have to portray a broken man for awhile. We have to give Travis enough room to feel comfortable making contact."

Anthony nodded. "Is there…" he trailed off, staring out the window.

"Anything we can do for Lady Edith?" Mycroft finished for him. Anthony looked at him with a new sense of respect. While he had always respected Mycroft Holmes' mind, he now knew he also had a heart.

"Perhaps. She seems trustworthy, but…."

"Does she trust _me?"_ Anthony finished for him. It was clear that any future reconciliation hinged on the answer to that question.

"I will ask her that very question," Mycroft looked thoughtful. He was already planning three steps ahead, Anthony knew. But he could not fault him for that. While Edith was possibly in danger, _England herself_ was also in the gravest danger.

"Do you think she would help?" Mycroft asked. Anthony paused, thinking it through, everything he knew and felt for her.

"Yes," he finally answered. "She is resourceful and brave. She would do anything for her country."

"Then we shall see," Mycroft said. Anthony got out of the car, and Mycroft's driver drove away. 

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA 

"Lady Edith, there's a phone call for you," Mr. Carson said gently as he entered the drawing room where the family sat, trying to both console Edith and ignore everything that had happened at the same time. It had been four days since her wedding-that-wasn't.

Neither approach was working very well, though Mary was being nicer than normal, perhaps in realization that nothing her sister had done to her in the past deserved this in return.

Edith was trying to accept their sympathy (especially Mary's), but it was difficult. After decades of being ignored, she was too used to closing herself off from them. And she was distracted, thinking about what the future could hold.

"Most likely someone that hasn't heard yet, excuse me," Edith said without emotion, walking out of the room.

Her mother's eyes followed her. Cora had always tried to encourage Edith, but her advice always somehow turned out wrong. She knew Edith was neglected by the family, but had no idea how to help her middle daughter. And that knowledge hurt keenly.

"Hello?" Edith tried to muster some spirit in her voice, but mostly failed.

"Hello, Lady Edith," the voice answered back. She gave a gasp and looked around her quickly to see if anyone could overhear. It was Mr. Holmes! His voice was different over the phone, but still distinct.

"Please tell me…." she whispered.

"Do you trust him?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes!" she nearly shouted, ecstatic that she had been right. She looked around again, and then said again, more subdued, "Yes, I do."

"Then continue on. He is moving to London to stay out of your way. Make no mention of him. Find something to do, stay busy, start building a life for yourself, let everyone forget," Mycroft instructed, and then paused. "Are you willing to help?"

It was such an odd question, Edith wasn't sure how to answer. He didn't seem to be referring to helping Anthony. No, this was work for England.

"Yes, I'll do anything you ask, but…."

"There will be justice for you both, I assure you," Holmes said with steel in his voice. And he hung up.

So useful, this new invention, Mycroft Holmes thought. He was glad that he had had the foresight to place a reliable operator at each exchange. It wouldn't do to have conversations overheard by the wrong people.

Edith's hands were shaking as she replaced the receiver. Anthony had been so much more than a government adviser. He was a spy.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay! This was SO hard to write! The intrigue at Downton Abby is so** **complex, and the noose is tightening!**

Weeks went by. Edith took walks, read the paper. And when a horrible MP wrote an offensive editorial about the "role of women", Edith saw the opportunity Mycroft Holmes had asked her to find. She had always liked to read and write, but had never had the chance to develop and opinion and defend it. So she wrote to the paper, referencing the offensive opinion. She wrote thoughtfully, giving evidence for her thoughts and choosing her words with care, knowing that she would be under extra scrutiny being an Earl's daughter. Especially an Earl's daughter that was recently left at the altar.

Her father voiced his approval, and his misgivings, though he had less to say about her actions than she thought he would have. The entire family behaved oddly around her, not knowing exactly how to treat her, a nearly-married woman who was clearly no longer just "the middle child."

Her grandmother, to be fair, was the only one that seemed to be able to treat her as if she wasn't in the way, and the only one to talk to her about the wedding-that-wasn't in a way that wasn't hurtful and condescending. Edith knew that Violet had not wanted the wedding to happen, but at least she wasn't cruel about it.

The editor of The Sketch, an entertainment/news magazine, wrote to her after reading her opinion letter, asking her to write for the magazine. Again, her father had less interest in her affairs than her would have thought, commenting only that he was surprised they would want publish "an amateur."

Everyone then nearly forget her entirely, with Tom coming to the house in the dead of night, and then a very pregnant Sybil coming from Ireland. The scandal was able to be managed, but in the end, it didn't matter.

Sybil died. Nothing much mattered after that.

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA

"I have to speak to her, Stewart, I must. I can't let her think I just don't care," Anthony implored his valet/butler to devise a way to get a message to Edith after hearing of Lady Sybil's death.

"Yes, sir, I understand. Davis should take your message and put it in Mr. Carson's hand himself. They are old acquaintances. I'm sure Carson will believe the sincerity of your message if he is there to deliver it."

Anthony gripped the man's shoulder with his good arm. "Go to Locksleigh tonight, with my letter. I'm sure Davis will understand."

It was the dinner hour when Davis opened the door to the servants' entrance at Downtown Abby. He had walked from Locksleigh so that there would be no sign of a car. He knew how important it was for Lady Edith to not have any known contact with Sir Anthony.

He walked quietly in, and found the butler's office. He had been at the Abby just a few times, but knew the general lay of the servant's hall. Carson was clearly still serving the family at dinner. Perfect. He wouldn't be seen coming in, and he would wait until later to not be seen leaving. He made himself comfortable, and waited.

Mr. Carson opened the door to his office with a heavy heart. Dinners since Lady Sybil's death were difficult events to get through. Tom (yes, he knew he shouldn't think of him as "Tom", but he didn't have the energy) was so sad, he actually felt sorry for the lad for once.

And Lady Edith. Carson had never paid much mind to the Earl's middle daughter, having almost nothing to say to the quiet, reserved child of the family. But it was clear she was being neglected. She had lost weight, Mrs. Hughes had mentioned, but the family seemed not to be able to care, or unwilling to. Both the Lord and Lady Grantham should be noticing such things, but were so wrapped up in blaming each other for their daughter's death, they seemed to be letting another daughter slip away. And there was nothing Carson could do about it.

He stopped short, frozen in the doorway, staring at Davis, his eyes wide. He hastily shut the door behind him. He knew Davis. They both worked for gentlemen. Well, Carson thought, Davis _used to_ work for a gentleman.

"What are you doing here?" was Carson's barely contained whisper.

"I have a message for Lady Edith," Davis said simply.

Carson nearly lost it. He wanted to scream "WHAT!?", but managed to restrain himself in the nick of time. It would not do for the household to know of Davis' presence.

"You must know that the situation is not what it seems, Carson," Davis said straight. "You simply _must_ have figured that much out."

Carson took a deep breath. He had. Nothing made sense, otherwise. Gentlemen of Sir Anthony's breeding simply did _not_ leave brides at the altar.

Davis took out the letter from his jacket and handed it to Carson. Could this be a way to help the woman withering away upstairs?

Carson took it, but hesitated.

"You must give me your word, Davis. I will accept _your_ word that there is nothing inappropriate in this letter." Carson stared at him, hard.

"I accept that. On my honor as an Englishman, there is nothing appropriate here. Hopefully all will be made clear soon, but…" here his eyes seared into Carson's, nearly making the older man step back.

"You **_must_** guarantee, above all else, that it will be your hand alone that delivers this to Lady Edith. And you cannot mention it to _anyone_. Not Mrs. Hughes, no one. It is to the safety of Lady Edith that no one discovers that her and Sir Anthony have had any contact. This is vital."

Carson fingered the letter, and then slide it into his jacket pocket. "I do not understand, but I did not ask for understanding. I asked you for your word. I will do as requested."

Carson feigned fatigue to forgo his usual nightcap with Mrs. Hughes. She didn't think much of it, knowing that Mr. Carson had not been himself since the death of Lady Sybil. They were all tired.

The next day dawned fair, which gave Carson hope that Lady Edith would go out after breakfast to her favorite tree. There would not be many opportunities for the butler to speak to anyone besides Lord Grantham alone. This would be his best one for several days.

And she was. Sighing with relief, Carson cleared his throat as he approached.

Edith looked up from her book. She had brought a blanket, and had planned to spend the unseasonably warm day completely outside, if she could help it. While she had shared a moment with Mary before the funeral, they had little to say to each other since. Edith knew there was some financial worries, but she also knew that her opinion was not wanted.

"Carson, is there something wrong? Am I wanted at the house?" she snorted inwardly at the last, knowing that it was quite unlikely.

"I wished to speak to you alone, my lady, is all. I received a visitor yesterday." Carson took the note from his jacket. He stared down at it in his hands for a moment. "I was guaranteed that there is nothing inappropriate in this letter, but if there is, I will give Lord Grantham my resignation." He looked up at her, his eyes sad and slightly afraid. "It is from Sir Anthony."

Edith gasped, and nearly threw down her book in her haste to stand up. She unfolded the letter with shaking hands, and read it quickly while Carson watched her.

 _My Darling Edith,_

 _I cannot tell you how much I hurt for you at this moment. That I cannot hurts all the more, though I know you understand a little of the situation that keeps us apart. I send this letter with secrecy, as your safety is my priority, but I could not leave you with no word, and could not bear the idea that you might think me unmoved by the great sorrow you are enduring._

 _We have not had much time to speak of the past, but someday I hope to tell you of my elder brother, Richard, who was lost to Scarlet Fever when I was but ten years old. We will remember our loved ones together, my Sweetheart, though it may be many months before we can do so._

 _It is critical, as Mycroft explained, that it not be known that we have had contact. Please destroy this letter, but know that I grieve with and for you, and earnestly look to the day that I can hold you in my arms._

 _Yours Always,_

 _Anthony_

Edith had started crying with reading. Carson had become even more worried, but allowed her to finish. Now, crying hard, she flung herself into Carson's arms.

"Oh, Carson, he loves me, he loves me," she sobbed through her tears. Carson had no idea what was going on, but at the moment he did not care. He hugged this unloved, neglected girl with all the love of an adopted father.

At the Diogenes Club in London, Mycroft Holmes reached for a file that had just arrived.

 _Michael Gregson._


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: WHEW! The holidays were crazy! But here we are. I added a tidbit to the end of chapter 11, so please make sure you re-read if you are following as I post new chapters. And I should warn you: If you are a fan of Michael Gregson - I am not. :) I've also re-edited to clean up typos, which I apologize for.**

Edith accepted a request by Michael Gregson, the editor of The Sketch, to meet with him at his office in London to "discuss the possibility of future writing collaborations." She was thrilled, but honestly didn't know what to expect. She had no experience with business negotiations, and felt that her father wouldn't be particularly helpful nor approving.

What she didn't expect was Gregson's almost glowing admiration for her and her work. While she was certain Anthony would approve of her writing, she had not had the time with him to actually hear much in the way of compliments from him. And she had never received any from her family.

So she was flattered, and a bit shaken. Was smiling at Michael (when did he become Michael?) a betrayal of the sacrifices Anthony had made for her, and was probably making for her now? But there was hardly anything she could do about it, she couldn't be rude. And she really did enjoy her monthly meetings with Michael in London. The freedom to go wherever she wanted. It reminded her of during the war, at Locksleigh.

He gave her an office to work in while she was in London, and treated her as if she was a valued member of the publishing team, instead of just a name he was using to sell more papers. He brought her coffee, and even rolls in the morning.

And they talked. About everything and anything. Edith was mentally stimulated in a way she had never been before. It was exhilarating.

Michael was clearly interested in her, but seemed to be treading carefully. She knew he was worried about her being the daughter of an Earl, and guessed that he was nervous to ask her out. She smiled. Edith felt like a normal, regular person while she was there, not the daughter of a disinterested Earl and someone who people gossiped about. It was nice to have someone fuss over her, in a good way.

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA

Four months since she had started at the Sketch. Seven months since Sybil had died. Eight months since Anthony had left her in the church. So much change, and yet not a word from Anthony since that letter.

Edith had to admit to herself, though, as she packed up her things in her office at the end of a productive day, that she was nervous about it all collapsing. She had begun to make a name for herself, just as her grandmother and Mycroft had suggested. What would a future with Anthony look like?

Could there be a future with Michael instead?

With the swirling of her thoughts, she nearly missed the car with its door open as she left the building. She stopped, and stared at the driver, who nodded. Edith looked around nervously, and stepped inside the car.

The car took her to a side street that had a small deli. The driver said "In there," quietly, and Edith obliged. She wasn't sure why she was being so compliant, but something about the situation seemed exactly –

Yes. There was Mycoft Holmes, sitting at a table, with a cup of tea, reading the paper. He acknowledged her slightly as she sat.

"One of the most important rules of this business is to never be remembered," Mycroft nearly murmured across to her. "You must be seen talking, but no one remembers what you said. You must look like you belong, but no one can remember what you wore or what you look like. Safe, but uninteresting. This allows you to do things in public that would otherwise look suspicious if you conducted them in private."

"I see," Edith answered vaguely, thinking through this tutorial, as a waitress came to the table. "Would you like anything, miss?"

"Yes, tea and a scone, thank you," Edith said smoothly. She had not much experience with the public, but she was a fast learner. The fact brought a tiny smile to the corners of Mycroft's eyes.

"Michael Gregson," Mycroft began as the waitress walked away, folding his paper. "What can you tell me about him?"

Edith thought for a moment. "Not much, really. He's been the editor of The Sketch for three years, I mean, he founded it. He's done the rounds of working for The Mail, other papers. I think he was born in London, but I'm not sure…."

"No, no one is," Mycroft said, pausing as the waitress brought a fresh pot and several more scones for the table.

"What do you mean?" she asked as casually as she could, while pouring them both a new cup.

"There is no record of a Michael Gregson anywhere in London, or any other major English city, before the war. He appears in London in 1917. We've had no other leads."

Edith sat back, and thought through everything Michael had ever hold her. And realized that he was being deliberately opaque. When asked about his family, she had gotten a tight, pained smile and something about the war killing most of them. When she had asked about what he had published before, he had mentioned The Mail, but she had no way to verify that.

But he had asked many questions about her, and her past. She had been pleased to have someone take an interest in her, but had managed to avoid talking about Anthony. She just assumed that he knew already, as the "jilting" had made the society columns for a few days. She had thought he was just being kind, but now she saw a less kind aura to his questions, as if he had been teasing her, testing what she was willing to tell him.

"Has he asked you to dinner yet?" Mycroft continued.

"Yet?" Edith frowned.

"Yes, 'yet.' I'm afraid he has a bit of a reputation."

Edith looked at him, wide-eyed. She had heard nothing. She had so desperately wanted to assume that Michael was only interested in her at first truly because of her writing, and then secondly as a desirable woman. How stupid and silly she must seem to him! She couldn't keep the tears that sprung to her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so harsh," Mycroft put his wrinkled hand over hers comfortingly. "You have been through much, but I am beginning to believe you are in the middle of something much larger." Mycroft removed his hand. "And something much worse."

Edith took a breath. "What must I do?"

Mycroft slide a small envelope to her. "I have written down some suggestions. We need to able to observe him with you. That will tell Anthony much."

Edith gasp at Anthony's name. "Is he well? How will he see us?"

"Our Anthony is a master of disguise. He has travelled the world under different aliases. Fear not," Mycroft said, "he has been keeping tabs on you from afar, for your safety and his."

The sentence told her more about Anthony than she had learned in the years she had spent at Locksleigh. "Do as the instructions say. We'll know more then."

Mycroft called for the waitress, and paid. He helped her into her coat, and they left together.

The waitress smiled at the tip the old man had left. Such a nice grandfather, to take his granddaughter out for tea, she thought. She cleaned the table and promptly forgot them as two new tables came bustling in.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: A longer chapter will come after this one, so please be patient! Our story is gaining speed! A reminder: I really don't like Michael Gregson. :)**

 ****Sir Anthony Strallan was no novice to the art of going unnoticed in public. Some might think that being nearly two metres tall and a lame arm would make hiding in plain sight impossible, but Anthony knew that it had more to do with attitude and appearance than actual physical attributes. Mycroft had trained him well, but Anthony had taken disguise to an art form.

So he sat and chatted with his "dinner companion", a female member of the Intelligence community recruited for the evening, seemingly a charming upper-class couple, the other restaurant guests oblivious of his true identity, while watching anxiously for his mark to arrive.

He schooled himself carefully not to break out in a grin as he saw Lady Edith Crawley enter the dining room, being escorted by Mr. Michael Gregson. She was elegant, sophisticated, and seemingly relaxed, though only someone with Anthony's training would notice the slight dart of her eyes. She was clearly trying to look for him without being noticed. Her natural skills at deception were commendable, though Anthony knew they had been honed by a family who did not have her best interests at heart.

He sighed, knowing he could not focus on her, but turned his attention to her dinner companion, Michael Gregson. Touching her back, they made their way to their table. Anthony actually had to clench his jaw at the sight of him being so informal with Edith in public, it was so inappropriate as to be almost duel-worthy.

This Gregson fellow knew exactly what he was doing, even if Edith did not, giving a very public display of their supposed level of relationship. The anger receded, with him chuckling at himself only a bit. Anthony knew his attitude was for a by-gone time – the war had changed much, though there would most definitely have to be some plausible public explanation for "her" behavior when this situation was concluded. The Bloomsbury crowd might be more accepting, but not the world of the aristocracy in which Lady Edith still belonged.

It was the challenge of his career to observe this cad closely, yet eat and interact with his companion as if he was not lame and knew no one else in the room. His companion was brilliantly saving him, blending his more obvious reactions to what he was observing into their "conversation." He would tell Mycroft to give her a raise.

Edith and Michael sat down and began looking at the wine list. Anthony now understood why Mycroft insisted that he take the risk of possibly being seen observing them. His skills of observation were the best in the business, perhaps equal to Mycroft's. Mycroft could not be seen in such a place, as his official position of a "minor government official" was pretty much no longer usable, with as many people who knew of him. And Anthony also knew what the "instructions" given to Edith entailed:

1\. Encourage an invitation to dinner, but do not invite outright

2\. If asked, suggest somewhere formal but not of the highest caliber

3\. Allow him to be familiar in public, encourage the illusion of acceptance

4\. Relax him, flatter him, excite him (in that order)

While Edith may not have exactly understood why these instructions were important, Anthony did. Mycroft understood clearly that Anthony would need to watch, to never have any doubts that his Edith was faithful to him, no matter how important the "mission" might be.

Anthony had resisted, at first, not seeing any connection between the Rev. Travis and Gregson, which he felt should be the only situation they should focus on. Mycroft agreed, but believed the operation was needed. Gregson had reached out to Lady Edith, Mycroft had reminded Anthony. It was too much of a coincidence, and made his instantly suspect.

Gregson was one of the most unpleasant persons Anthony had ever met, now being certain with observation that the man's blend of arrogance and sexual aura were deliberate tools used to entrap women, both physically and emotionally. But he needed to observe the man without pretense, to see his natural reactions without the artifice.

Food was brought to the table. Anthony had memorized the menu beforehand, as to be able to recognize any dish brought out from a distance. Fish for Edith, pork fillet for Michael. Anthony frowned. Definitely not from London, then. They began eating. Perfect. Eating was an ingrained habit. Such behaviors could give one clues to –

Anthony froze, fork in mouth, as realization dawned as to what he was seeing, but hadn't _observed._ He continued to watch Michael Gregson eat, growing more and more alarmed.

Michael Gregson, if that really was his true name, was _German._


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I am SO sorry this is short, it really belongs with chapter 13. But here it is. More to come.**

"He's German, I'm positive," Anthony said to Mycroft as soon as he came through the door to his office. "German, or raised in Germany."

Mycroft simply stared at him, that blank stare that Anthony knew meant the man was deep in thought. "I could put a trace on where his money came from to start his business, but I'm concerned that might tip him off. We will simply have to wait for him to make the next move."

Anthony nodded. "But Lady Edith _must_ be informed," he insisted. "And allowed to back out if she wishes. I will not put her in harm's way without her at the very least being told that she might very well _be_ in harm's way."

Mycroft inclined his head in agreement. "I will have the information we currently have sent to her apartment. But we simply _must_ know more about this Gregson. I'll send out our linguist, hopefully he can recognize any accent."

"Good idea."

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA

 _It has been confirmed through our mutual friend: the man in question is German. The probability he means you ill is increasing. Our friend wishes you to be informed of this, and ask that you be given the option to stop providing aid in this matter. Please tip the bearer of this message if you agree to continue, or else ask him to leave if you do not._

 _If you choose to continue, I suggest that you offer sympathy to Germany and the current political situation they are in. Subtly. Use a German word, suggest a German entre. You must be patient not to raise suspicion._

 _If you feel you are in danger, go directly to the Home Office and ask for me. Give the codeword "Sherrinford."_

 _MH_

Edith read the letter quickly, as the delivery boy waited. It was almost hard to breath, she was so overwhelmed. But she knew there was no going back, no possibility of stopping. She had to help, it was the only way she and Anthony could ever be together.

She handed the youth a fiver from her purse. The boy's eyes lit up. "Thank you, miss!" he exclaimed, doffing his cap. She smiled as he ran out through her door, back to Mycroft.

This word of intrigue frightened her. Her home life had always been full of drama, but the fate of England was never at stake, nor had she ever felt physically threatened. How or why Michael, if he was a German spy, would use her to get to Anthony was certainly unclear. She knew not knowing made things even more dangerous. But she was committed, now until the end.

Anthony couldn't remember a time he had seen his mentor speechless. The man had already looked up from the linguist's report twice, and yet had not said a word. Instead, Mycroft Holmes stared at the report, as if willing it to not say whatever it was that had him so…discomfited.

Anthony waited as patiently as he could. Clearly the man had received unexpected news. But Anthony Strallan knew Mycroft Holmes would pull himself together, no matter what.

And he did. Finally looking over to where Anthony stood, Mycroft put down the report. "Gregson has an accent that indicates he was raised….in Swabia. It took Rogers several attempts, but he's certain."

Anthony was confused. "May I ask why that disturbed you so much?" Mycroft looked away, as if embarrassed. Anthony had never seen him like this.

"I…knew someone from there, once," he said carefully. But Anthony was not fooled. His eyes followed Mycroft's, to the ring Mycroft wore on his finger.

"She had his hair, his eyes, but it's just not possible…." Mycroft trailed off, still staring at the ring.

"Mycroft," Anthony sucked in a breath in surprise, "Good God, could this be less about me…and more about you?"

Mycroft said nothing, but his eyes confirmed it. Could Michael Gregson be….Lina Heinkel's grandson?

Could he be _Mycroft's_ grandson?


	15. Chapter 15

"Mother would never let us be seen eating in public as children," Edith said, glowing, as Michael escorted her to the Goring for dinner. He had been slightly surprised she was willing to be seen at such a high-profile location, but had agreed readily.

"The war's changed everything," Michael agreed, as he smiled around his wine glass. Yes, the war had certainly changed much, especially for him.

"True. Sometimes, nothing seems to make sense. _Nachts ist es kälter als draußen,"_ she said causally, shrugging her shoulders. _Night is colder than outside._ It was a common expression in Germany for something that made no sense.

Michael's eyes widened slightly, but he tried to stay casual. "You speak German?"

She nodded over her own wineglass, as if it was nothing. "I'm not as proficient as I should be. Mother made me start taking French lessons instead of continuing," here her shrug showed annoyance, "but I've tried to keep it up with people that I know speak it."

Michael grinned. " _Ich spreche auch,"_ he said quietly. "My ... mother was German. It's nice to know that some English don't hate us."

 _Don't hate us._ Edith's heart pounded in her ears. Michael didn't consider himself English. It had taken her two weeks to get even this from him. Now, she was at a loss. What should she say next?

"Who spoke German around you in Yorkshire?" Michael was asking. She focused back on him. He was looking at her intently, waiting for her answer. _Dear God, he really thinks I just a vapid daughter of an English lord,_ she thought. But this was her cue to take the plunge.

"Anthony Strallan, mostly. I'm sure you already know what happened, though," she said, her head bent as if in shame, giving him an in.

"Yes, of course, it was in the papers. I'm sorry," Michael said, seemingly contrite. "I didn't know he spoke other languages."

Edith sniffed in distain. "He was a liaison for the government, or something," she said, disinterested. "Clearly he didn't do much for Germany. From everything I've read, Germany was quite unfairly punished for siding with Austria."

Michael leaned forward. "I'm glad you say that," he said, his eyes sparkling. Edith's eyes were drawn to his lips. _In for a penny…._ she thought, as her lips met his.

She knew now she was playing a very dangerous game. With a traitor. 

_EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

"It's a triangle with three sides that don't seem to meet," Anthony paced around Mycroft's office, musing out loud. Mycroft had long known that Strallan did his best work on his feet, moving around. It was a completely different style than Mycroft's quiet contemplation, but he saw no need to belittle success.

"Me, Travis, Gregson." Anthony stopped and looked at Mycroft. "And then you, Mycroft. I don't see…." Anthony's eyes widened. "Oh, wait. I wonder…." Mycroft let his the time to finish," I wonder if this is perhaps _two_ separate chains?"

The elderly Holmes immediately understood. "That if Gregson _is_ my grandson, he's come to England to try to connect with the spy rings, but isn't necessarily already a part of them?" Mycroft nodded slowly. "That would imply a level of disorganization in the German government consistent with our current information. Or…Gregson may be playing the Germans, trying to use the spy network as a way to get to me."

"Why would he be angry with you?" Anthony asked. Mycroft sighed. He trusted Anthony Strallan in ways he hadn't trusted anyone since the death of Sherlock. But this…This was personal.

"You asked me about…the ring," Mycroft started slowly. Anthony took a seat, knowing he was about to understand Mycroft Holmes in a way that no one else ever had.

"I told you that it was a reminder of a mistake," Mycroft continued, fingers steepled in front of him, "A mistake of thinking that you can keep loved ones safest by keeping them far away from you, and the work we do. Lina Heinkel and I married in secret. We were supposedly on opposite sides, no one would approve. Of course they would not, because what happened next was exactly why such liaisons are not allowed.

A mission went horribly wrong. Lina was about to be captured. I was able to sneak her onto a ship leaving for America, thinking that to keep her from my superiors was the best solution. The ship-" Mycroft's voice cracked. Anthony was spellbound. Never would he have realized the depth of this man. Mycroft took a breath to control himself, and continued, "The ship was sunk by the Germans. There were no survivors."

Anthony paused, processing. "Apparently that was not the case."

"We have no confirmed if this Gregson is truly my grandson. But…." Mycroft's eyes turned to the wall, clearly reliving the past, "He truly does have Lina's coloring, though I will also admit, he reminds me of my brother at that age."

"So…" Anthony started pacing again, "We need to help Edith get Gregson and Travis together. If he's just part of the network, that will be his next goal. If he's using the network to somehow get to you, how do we use that to our advantage?"

"Edith will need to invite him to Yorkshire. I will have a word with Lord Grantham, and pave the way for that to go smoothly. As for the other…" Mycroft's eyes glinted, "We just may have to plan a surprise."

Anthony was oh so very glad Mycroft Holmes was on _their_ side.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I had a few comments wondering why Gregson would wish to keep his German heritage secret. Without spoiling the story, it is a fact that Germany was the "most hated race in Europe" after WWI. Acknowledging German heritage (which many English have) was completely taboo. People stopped speaking German in public, families anglicized their names, there were even German-language newspapers that closed and never reopened. Remember, the UK alone lost 700,000 soldiers.**

 **Also, though it's already been mentioned, this story is not kind to Michael Gregson. If that bothers you, or the German aspect bothers you, please do not continue to read.**

The Spring Garden Party seemed to Edith to be an excellent reason to invite Michael to Downton. Mycroft agreed. If they were going to prove Michael and Rev. Travis were actually spies, they needed to catch them making contact.

But Mycroft was troubled. There seemed to be a disconnect between Travis and Gregson that he had yet to determine. If Travis' mission was to trigger Strallan's condition, then what part did Gregson have to play?

 _Edith._ Mycroft was forgetting Edith. Was that the goal, to recruit the child of an English lord?

Perhaps, but Mycroft felt that this was a long game. While Edith might be a prize, and Gregson might actually be out for revenge on him, Mycroft was certain there was another player who had yet to appear. Someone older, established in the community, someone who had a causal connection to Maude and Travis. Someone who had traveled regularly in the past, who could have then passed on information under the guise of simply being well-connected.

Mycroft sighed. He could postulate the X-factor, the profile of the person they sought, but he would need Anthony to make the final determination. Hopefully, with Mycroft's description, Anthony would know who that person was.

As for Gregson, Mycroft knew exactly how to make certain of him. He sent a letter to Lord Grantham, explaining the situation. He would be attending the Grantham's Garden Party.

A letter from Mycroft Holmes. Robert Crawley could barely imagine it. He knew the man was powerful, and dangerous. And what he was asking seemed to put his own family in danger's path.

The only person they needed to lie to was this Gregson of Edith's. Robert had been rather put out at first to realize that his middle child was dating someone whom the government felt improper, but that feeling had passed as he realized that if Holmes was involved, Strallen wasn't too far behind. That the jilting might actually be part of a ruse.

Robert Crawley wasn't an imaginative man. He did his duty to his family and to his estate the best he was able. That Edith was possibly… Robert looked around the room as he thought the words "a spy", as if someone might hear them in his mind. It was almost too much to contemplate.

Mother and Cora would have to be told. Everyone else could just be introduced to the "family friend." That should work, right?

Anthony had come back to Locksleigh quietly. Mycroft had created the profile of the ringmaster, the man who was the link between the information collected by Maude and Travis and the German government. But Anthony could think of no one that matched the description. So he had come home, to hopefully remember better the days when Maude was alive, they friends that she had, the activities she had enjoyed.

It hurt him to think of her. It had all been a lie, their marriage. She had most likely been recruited by Travis, a priest sent to infiltrate a small town. But who was their contact?

Anthony pounded his fist on his desk in frustration. He had thought he had paid attention to his late wife, as a proper husband should. Clearly, he had not.

He rang for Davis. Davis, his man who had been with him right before Maude had fallen off that horse. Maybe he would….

And the realization filled him. Who she had been with that day. They had both loved horses.

Lady Gervis. Good god, he had been blind!

"Lady Gervis, how wonderful to see you," Cora said, giving the slightly older woman a kiss on the cheek. They weren't exactly friends, but the Gervises were an old family in Yorkshire, Sir Jonathan being a Baron, and had always come out to support the community.

"Oh, thank you, Lady Grantham, it is so wonderful to see the community out, isn't it?" the elegant lady said, looking around. "And I must say, you've outdone yourself this year, my dear. Everything is just beautiful."

Cora beamed. It had taken many years for the community to get used to their American Countess. She guided Lady Gervis to a seat under the main tent. "Lady Gervis, please let me introduce a family friend, Mr. Sherrinford," Cora said.

Mycroft Holmes kissed her hand. "A pleasure, Lady Gervis," he said. He had received a note from Carson only minutes ago, hastily written by Anthony and given to Davis to deliver. It was so critical that Mycroft know who the final link was that the chance Davis would be noticed had to be taken. The noose was tightening.

But he needed to wait, and watch Lady Gervis interact with Michael Gregson. He needed to see Gregson's eyes as he looked at Mycroft. Did he know him, did he hate him? Could he truly be a grandson he had never known?

Edith was nervous. She had never really had a "guest" of her own at Downton. And Michael was such a dangerous guest. He had pushed further on her feelings about Germany since the dinner at the Criterion. Edith was certain he was trying to recruit her, and had told Mycroft such. "Let him," was Mycroft's advice, while telling her his plan for the Garden Party.

Michael had pushed her physically, too, taking delight in the liberties she allowed. She felt confused and afraid, like she was on a runaway train that no one was trying to stop.

Edith only hoped she didn't give everything away. She had never thought of herself as particularly clever, or devious. She had always had a terrible habit of wearing her emotions on her face, unlike Mary. But the years had helped her learn about herself, to trust herself. She remembered that competence now, as she escorted Michael to the main tent, where the family was waiting.

She felt Michael tense as they got closer. Yes, it could have been from natural nervousness, but she knew, somehow, that it wasn't. But there was nothing else, so Edith continued on.

"Lady Gervis, how nice to see you! This is Michael Gregson, editor of The Sketch," she said in introduction. Michael bowed slightly. Edith turned to Mycroft.

"And this is Mr. Sherrinford, an old family friend," she said. She couldn't help but notice the slightly smirk that came to Michael's lips.

Mycroft, however, saw Michael's face full on. The hatred in the man's eyes was nearly palatable. Oh, yes, Michael knew _exactly_ who he was.

At that precise second, Lord Grantham turned and said, "Ah, Travis! So nice to see you here." Everyone turned to greet the Reverend. Michael, who then took glasses of something cool from Carson's tray, handed one to Edith, said, "To the community we serve!" in the way of a toast.

Mycroft knew a code phrase when he heard one. Lady Gervis and Rev. Travis both choked on their drink, clearly surprised. Mycroft scowled. It was poor form to surprise your contacts in such a manner. Clearly, Michael Gregson cared nothing for them, or really for Germany. He was here for a completely different purpose, espionage partners by damned.

Edith put a hand to her forehead. All of the sudden, she felt light-headed. "I think I might have taken in too much sun," she murmured. Michael let her lean against him, a bit improperly for the public setting.

"I'll take her back to the house," he said. Cora and Robert looked at each other, but said nothing, as Michael lead her away. It wouldn't do to keep Edith here, and let Michael touch her so familiarly. There would be talk about even this display for some time to come.

Mycroft was furious. He was certain Gregson had arranged that little display. Was Edith to now be publically condemned? Could Michael think to get her to defect based on the scandal he could easily make?

He gestured to Lord Crawley. "Send someone up to the house to check on Lady Edith," he said quietly.

"I will go, my lord," Carson said. He had not liked the look of this Michael Gregson as soon as he saw him. And he knew there was something going on, with Davis' note.

Robert nodded. "Let me know if anything is the matter," he said.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I'm sorry. :,( This next chapter is rated M.**

 _EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

Carson made his way to the main entrance of the Abby. When inside, he looked around, confused. It was eerily quiet. He should at least be able to hear Gregson with Lady Edith in one of the rooms.

Instead, he heard a roar of the gathering outside. Rushing back out, he saw one of the cars headed down the drive at high speed.

Lord Grantham was running up to the house. "Who was that!?" he shouted at Carson.

"I-" Carson was stunned silent for a moment. Such things just _did not happen_ in his worldview.

"I believe it was Mr. Gregson, my lord. I will check the house to see if Lady Edith left with him."

"I'm sure he took her. And I don't believe Lady Edith went willingly," said Mycroft, walking up slowly. "I will need to use your phone first, but I believe it's time to completely fill you in, Lord Grantham."

 _EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

Michael Gregson was not pleased as he drove at top speed away from Downton, with Edith Crawley asleep in the seat next to him. He had briefly wondered if Edith could be a counter spy, but had dismissed the idea. She was too open, too innocent. But being introduced to Mycroft Holmes had clinched it. She had played him.

He had to grin, though. Compromising the German operatives had been fun. He could care less about them, or about Germany. His country of birth had done nothing for his family, insisting that their long-term plans of psychological warfare were more important. He had been told by the highest authority to stop asking for retribution against Mycroft Holmes, and his attempted murder of his grandmother. "Mycroft Holmes is untouchable," they'd said. He looked over at his prize. Well, now he had something the famous Holmes wanted.

 _EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

Mycroft had called Anthony last, clearly thinking there was little Anthony could do, being unable to drive. Surely Gregson had headed to the train station. "We will hopefully catch him there," Mycroft had said. But Anthony had a different opinion. Gregson had clearly drugged Edith, from Mycroft's late observation. He wouldn't be able to get her on the train without notice and suspicion. Lady Edith was known here.

Gregson was no fool, Anthony admitted to himself. If he had taken Edith, he had a plan. And the plan involved not being captured. Anthony quickly came to the conclusion that Michael would have scouted out the nearest farm. None of the tenancies had phones in their houses, so no news would travel there. Anthony had Stewart bring his car around quickly. He was almost certain he knew where Michael Gregson would go.

 _EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

"Can you help me, please? Lady Edith has taken ill," Michael said with urgency to Timothy Drewe as he came out of his house, surprised by the car that had driven up. Drewe helped him with Edith into the house and onto their plain bed.

Michael quickly turned, and punched Drewe in the jaw. He fell, as Mrs. Drewe screamed in the doorway. "Shut up!" Gregson growled at her. "Get your brats and get into the basement. NOW," he snarled. Mrs. Drewe gathered her boys and did ask she was told.

Gregson kicked Drewe in the head for good measure, and turned to look at Edith laying on the bed. If anyone could seem him grin, they would have thought they were looking at the Devil himself.

 _EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

Sir Anthony didn't need to tell Stewart to hit the gas pedal as Lord Grantham's car became visible, parked next to the Drewe's house.

"Drive back to the Abby, and bring reinforcements," Anthony instructed his loyal servant. Stewart hesitated, but knew there was no other way. His lord would not leave Lady Edith, and they were going to need help.

Anthony opened the front door quietly. Hearing nothing, he entered the house slowly. He saw Mr. Drewe on the floor, his lip and forehead bleeding. Anthony blamed himself for letting Edith anywhere near the man. A door was open just a crack in the back of the house. Anthony walked silently to it, and held his breath as he pushed it open. His vision went red.

Michael Gregson stood at the side of the bed, buckling his pants. Edith, his lovely Edith, was stripped naked on the bed, unconscious.

"You will not leave this house alive," Anthony said, his voice so very quiet, a whispered roar.

Michael whipped his head around at Anthony's voice, and then sneered. "Who's going to kill me?" he taunted. "You?" He laughed cruelly. "I've been trained for combat my entire life, and you've got an extra 20 years, old man. Plus," he said as he pulled a knife from his boot. "I always come with a plan." He lunged at Anthony.

Anthony fended off the first lunge, using his height to his advantage. But Michael was quick and agile, swinging around to Anthony's bad side.

"Ha, old man! You're slow," Michael tried to goad him. "But now what kind of _wife_ do you think she'll be?" He grinned evilly, thinking he knew what would come next.

But Anthony was not a weak-minded as Maude, Mrs. Gervis, Rev. Travis, and some psychological unit in German seemed to think. He used the adrenaline that came to him to his advantage, and with a roar, lunged at Gregson, intent on knocking the knife away.

But it wasn't enough. Michael _was_ younger and stronger. He twisted away from Anthony. Anthony planned his own goading.

"You're pathetic," Anthony spat at Michael. "Can't even take down an old man. What must your traitor of a grandmother be thinking in her grave?"

Michael was so enraged at Anthony's words, he stopped trying to kill him. "You know NOTHING! Oma Linie made me swear I would get justice for her. Your Mycroft Holmes, you think he's so amazing? He deliberately put her on that boat, knowing the British were planning to bomb it. He didn't even know she was pregnant with my mother. She was a liability to his career, and he got rid of her. She told me, over and over again, I promised her!"

Michael Gregson was crazed, with the strength of three men. Anthony couldn't stop him as he plunged his knife into Anthony's side.

"AH!" Anthony cried out in pain as he dropped to his knees. The sound of him hitting the floor was abnormally loud to his ears. But as he clutched his side, he saw Gregson crumple to the ground, with a bullet in his forehead. He looked at the door, where Mycroft Holmes stood stoically, gun raised. The only emotion he showed was a single tear falling down his cheek.

 _EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

Stewart bound Sir Anthony's wound with a towel Mrs. Drewe gave him. Luckily, Dr. Clarkson h/ad been at the Garden Party, and he had been quickly ushered to the Drewe residence to find himself overwhelmed with patients. He had packed Sir Anthony's wound, given Tim Drewe something for the pain of a fractured jaw, and then looked at them all pointedly, entering the bedroom where Mycroft had covered Lady Edith with a blanket for modesty's sake, and firmly shut the door.

He came out again, moments later, shoulders hunched. Anthony didn't know what to think.

"Is she… Will she be alright, Doctor?" he asked, trying to keep the pain of his stab wound from his voice.

Dr. Clarkson looked at him blankly. "She's alive," he said, the Scottish accent so much heavier. "Ah gave birth to her, I held her wee body in ma' arms…." he collapsed in a chair, unable to process what he had just seen. "Even Lady Sybil… that was even more understandable than this."

"Doctor?" Anthony couldn't accept it. He looked at Clarkson again, but Richard Clarkson was having no more.

"Stewart, get your master to the hospital. I'll stay with Lady Edith." Still bleeding, Anthony wasn't in a position to argue. He looked at Mycroft, who was sitting on the couch, drinking a couple of tea Mrs. Drewe had so considerately provided. "And you, Mycroft?"

"I will stay here for the moment," Mycroft said over his teacup quietly. "The police will want some explanation."

Anthony nodded at him, and again at Dr. Clarkson. Stewart helped him into the car.

All of this had been done to secure his and Edith's future. What future could they have together, now?


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay. I feel like that last chapter stunned even me, sort of a "My god, what have I done." Took me a while to get through that.

The end is in sight, and I believe it will be worth the wait. Because it's a hell of an ending. :D

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA

Days went by, then weeks, as Edith recovered. She barely spoke to anyone, forcing Dr. Clarkson to tell the family the horrible truth.

The papers began printing the story, piece by piece, at Mycroft's direction, letting Lady Edith's actions on the part of the British government come out slowly to minimize the sensationalism. But he did the family a great service by explaining it all to them soon afterwards, for as the weeks passed into months, it became clear: Edith was pregnant.

Lord Grantham canceled the family's trip to the Scottish highlands, and asked Matthew Crawley to give up his solicitor position. The family needed to isolate themselves, he explained. Matthew, for once, agreed with Robert. He still remembered finding Sir Anthony in that foreign hospital, naked and bleeding. He would do whatever he could for him, and for Edith. He knew they both deserved happiness.

Mary gave birth to a future heir of Grantham, and there was some laughter in the house once more. But Mary didn't forget her sister. Stunned at the story of Edith's bravery, she took little George up to Edith's room as soon as she could, and laid the babe in Edith's arms. Edith, three months along herself with Michael's child, cried piteously over the child as Mary then held her.

Things began to finally start to move in the justice system, with the arrest of Rev. Travis and Lady Gervis as spies for Germany. "SPIES IN YORKSHIRE" the headline screamed, giving a lurid description of the ring, painting Gervis as a bitter, greedy woman and Travis as an elitist who thought little of English culture. Mycroft dictated exactly what The Times and The Standard said about their activities, allowing some details of what could happen when national intelligence falls into the wrong hands.

The first Lady Strallan could not be kept out of the narrative, though, as Sir Anthony's testimony was critical to the prosecution's case. Anthony made his way to the courthouse three times to explain what he had done, but managed the completely leave Mycroft's name out of it, with the Foreign Office as his supposed "superior."

"Sir Anthony! Sir Anthony!" Yelled one reporter in the crowd as the gentleman exited the London courthouse after giving his last statement. "Is it true that Lady Edith Crawley refuses to see you? It's been reported that she hasn't been seen in public for months!

Sir Anthony turned to the reporter, just a young kid, really, his eyes blazing, and then saddening as he saw the young man gulp. "I would ask that you give her privacy," he said quietly. "Lady Str- Lady Edith deserves only the highest respect this county can give her." And at that, he ducked his head quickly and hastily got in the car that was waiting to take him home. He grinned to himself in the back of the car, leaning back in exhaustion and relief. He had to admit, Mycroft Holmes was a genius.

All of the newspapers ran with different speculations:

The Times: "Sir Anthony's Shell Shock, Doesn't Know Who His Wife Is"

The Standard: "Sir Anthony's Pain Makes Him Misspeak"

The Telegraph: "The Next Reason the Aristocracy Should End"

But it was The Daily Mail that landed on exactly what Mycroft wanted them to, without any prompting at all:

LADY EDITH CRAWLY AND SIR ANTHONY STRALLAN: MARRIED IN SECRET?

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA

Anthony had Stewart drive him to Downton the day after that headline was printed. He didn't think the Lord Grantham took The Daily Mail, but he was certain the press would not stay away with the possibility of such a story.

He had heard of her pregnancy from Mycroft, and it had nearly crushed him to not go to her then. But Mycroft had calmed him, explaining his plan.

Carson was already at the door as Stewart came around to open Sir Anthony's door. "Sir Anthony," the loyal butler said gruffly, but respectfully, which spoke much of his willingness to consider Anthony a decent human being again. But the sadness in his eyes also told Anthony he had much to atone for.

He spoke with Robert briefly, in hushed tones in the foyer. Robert nodded, and the family watched in fascination as Anna escorted Anthony up the stairs to Edith's room.

Anna softly knocked on Edith's bedroom door. "M'lady, Sir Anthony is here. Can I let him in?" She had never actually used Lady Edith's title in her presence before, and it made her a little angry at herself. She, too, had taken the middle Crawley for granted, favoring Lady Mary with more of her time and attention. It would not happen again.

Edith turned, eyes wide. Anthony hadn't sent even a letter since... She had only read his testimony in the paper, but she had had no certainty that she wasn't just a pawn.

Anthony nearly collapsed on his knees beside her chair, taking her hand so very gently. Edith," he murmured into her fingers.

"Anthony," she whispered. She could keep her tears inside, as they spilt down her cheeks. "And now we can never have happiness, can we? I'm forced to carry his child," she nearly spat, sobs now being wrenched from her chest, "but I couldn't even consider..."

"No, no, of course not," Anthony said, knowing she was thinking that she should have had an illegal abortion. "And it's not necessary. We can raise the child together, just as I know you always planned."

"What? How? You can't accept a bastard child, Anthony!" she exclaimed, horrified at what he was suggesting. "I would never make you do that!"

"The child isn't a bastard, my dear. Didn't you know?" He stopped to pull out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "We've been married for over a year."

Edith read the document, stunned, not even caring that her mouth hung open. She could barely process what she was seeing. A marriage license. Signed the day before her "failed wedding." By a Registrar Official.

But her signature was blank. She looked up at Anthony, the question in her eyes.

"If you wish it to be so, my sweet one, all you have to do is sign. Everything else will be taken care of. This is my child, no matter if it is a boy or a girl. It shall have everything I can give it, and its mother will want for nothing."

Edith's hands shook as she set the license on her desk, and reached for her pen. It felt... like the day of her wedding.

"Oh Anthony," she reached for him, sobbing, but this time, with tears of happiness. Anthony held her with his good arm fiercely, silently thanking God and Mycroft Holmes.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I apologize for any typos, I'm working from a tablet, and it's not making corrections easy. I so hope this last chapter is satisfying. Please leave me any feedback you think might tie things up better, and I'll look at incorporating them into the complete edit I plan to do now that the story is complete.**

"It is difficult to calculate how much damage they have done to England," Mycroft said softly, sitting down his teacup. Edith, Mycroft, and Anthony were sitting by a cozy fire in Locksleigh's library, enjoying a moment of peace. Now six months along, Edith's pregnancy was starting to show in a way that couldn't be denied, and one or two reporters were still camping out at the gate, hoping for more to the story of the year.

"No,I suppose not," Anthony replied, staring out the library window. He was still working with doctors to end the mental conditioning he was put through. How many other minds had been tampered with? And who might gain access to the procedure in the future?

Even in their small town, the effects were being felt. Couples married by Travis, even decades back, were asking for wedding vow renewals, as clearly the man was never a proper custodian of the church. And the Gervises! Sir Arnold had been not been implicated in his wife's traitorous activities, though they would be keeping an eye on him.

But it had stung the community that anyone who had been so philanthropic as Lady Gervis had could be giving away the country's both had officially been charged with aiding the enemy in the death of sailors testing new equipment off the coast, as the information that was passed to the Germans alerted them to the ship's presence. The fact that Anthony's mind was being specifically manipulated managed to stay out of the headlines.

"Won't you have another scone, Mycroft?" Edith offered. She was starting feel rather motherly. This child, she had decided, would be loved. She would not allow Michael to harden her heart. She was already certain it was a girl, and she already loved her. She could admit to herself, privatly inside her head, that not being about to remember what Michael had done to her helped the process.

Mycroft looked at her, and then the scone, slightly bemused. "Yes, I think I will," he said with a smirk. He was old. What could a few scones hurt him now?

"They're not the only spies in England, Mycroft," Anthony said with a far away look in his eyes. "Though I am surprised that this ring targeted me so early."

"Yes, I was thinking about that," Mycroft said. "I may need to go through the histories of my own people again." He sat down his napkin. "At any rate, I do have a few things that need to be said."

Edith's gasp was barely audible, but both Mycroft and Anthony looked at her with concern. "Nothing to horrible, I think, my dear," Mycroft reassured her. "But Anthony is now in the public's eye as a major component of the Intelligence Service, even if I've managed to keep my own name out of the papers. He will need to take up that title, to keep the inspiring journalists from trying to dig further."

"What does that mean, Mycroft, exactly?" Anthony knew what was coming, but he dreaded it.

"You will be named the head of MI6 by the Prime Minister. Next week, in fact," Mycroft stated simply. Edith's teacup shook just a bit. More danger?

"The position should actually keep you safer, as it comes with quite a bit more protection, Mycroft answered her unspoken question, "though you will have to move to London."

Anthony nodded his head. He knew this would happen, eventually. Locksleigh would always be his home, but he would have to arrange for a permanent manager. Edith's brother-in-law Tom, perhaps….

"And the King has been briefed. I felt it was the best way to keep things stable. Prime Ministers come and ago, but I knew his grandmother." Mycroft tried to keep another smirk off his face, but couldn't quite manage. "It's his opinion that a baronet shouldn't be running such an important organization."

"What?" both Edith and Anthony said together. "What does that mean, will His Majesty keep me from it?" Anthony continued.

"No," now Mycroft's smile was in full force. "He's making you an Earl."

Edith flung herself at Anthony, holding him tight. "Oh, Anthony!" she nearly wailed. She knew this would help crush his damnable insecurity. Her family could say nothing more.

Anthony held his Edith tight, and looked over at Mycroft.

"I would ask one more thing," said Mycroft Holmes, the man who had had to shoot his own grandson for England.

"Anything," Anthony agreed. Whatever Mycroft Holmes wanted, Mycroft Holmes got.

EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA

19 years later

Lady Marigold Strallan, as she was known to the world, got out of her car and looked at the old estate house. It was grand, but smaller than Locksleigh. Her younger brother would take the Earldom there in a several years time, though she hoped her father, or the man whom she had always accepted as her father, would live for several more decades with her mother.

Her parents had explained everything to her just over a year ago. What times they had lived in! Marigold had felt at peace with the information, as she knew in her heart she was completely loved by her parents. They had given her everything one could ask for - a loving family, a solid education. She felt less lied to than rather pieces of he puzzle of her life finally revealing themselves. Father had always said she had the natural ability of deduction.

And she certainly couldn't hate her biological ancestry. No, that would be wrong. She held the letter Mycroft Holmes had written to her before he died, five years after she was born. She could just barley remember the man, but he clearly had wanted her to come here. He had left the place to her in his will, explaining its history and their family. She would never deny her heritence of deduction, even if that acceptance came with the unpleasant aspect of Michael Gregson, or Matias Henkle, as he had been known in Germany.

It was time for a new adventure.

The majordomo, Evans, came out to greet her. "Welcome to Sherrinford, Lady Marigold," he said. That was her name for the public. But in her heart she would always be Marigold Strallan-Holmes.


End file.
